


Protection.

by half_of_a_halfling



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Denial, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grooming, Guilt, Hand Job, Hobbit Kinkmeme, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Mentions of Underage, Molestation, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Thorin, happy ending I promise, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 09:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2343710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/half_of_a_halfling/pseuds/half_of_a_halfling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Hobbit Kink meme: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=24369013#t24369013</p>
<p>Bilbo confesses that he had an intimate relationship with one of his uncles from a young age but believes it to be a normal practice. Thorin does his best to protect him from the truth - that he was being abused - but Gandalf is certain it would be better for him to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Cultural Misunderstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I did not create these characters nor do I claim any ownership of them.

It must be difficult, Bilbo mused to himself, for Thorin to go without the affections of his nephews for so very long, and of course for Fíli and Kíli to go without their uncle’s. The quest had meant that no member of the company had had very much private time to themselves for quite some time now. That being said, they could’ve found the time, he supposed. Maybe they took themselves off somewhere while everyone else was asleep and saw to each others needs.

 

Were the two younger dwarves happy to share Thorin? They’d have to be, Bilbo decided. Frerin died long before their births, so Thorin was most likely the only uncle they’d ever known. They could do much worse than him though.

 

Thorin was strong and valiant. Emotionally distant for the most part, yes, but he showed great affection and encouragement to his nephews at the very least. He was handsome, Bilbo couldn’t deny it. But of course he would be, he came from a line of royalty, who, no doubt, had their pick of the most attractive Dwarves to take as a partner. Exactly what Fíli and Kíli would want in a teacher of intimate acts, even if they did have to share him with each other.

 

It was late in the evening when Bilbo looked across the camp to where Thorin Oakenshield sat with his nephews, the sight of which was the trigger for most of these thoughts. He watched as he patted Kíli on the shoulder and told him something that went unheard by Bilbo over the noise of the rest of the company.

 

The two then stood and wandered away, out of sight from the rest of the group and it was then that Bilbo took a moment to rise to his feet and casually cross the camp to sit beside Fíli. He seemed entirely fine with Thorin taking his brother and not him.

 

“You’re not the jealous type then?” Bilbo murmured softly, with a small smile, tapping Fíli’s arm.

 

Fíli turned to him and furrowed his brow. “And what’s that supposed to mean exactly?”

 

Bilbo tensed a little at the reaction. Maybe he’d touched a nerve there. He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean any offense, it’s just idle curiosity.” He assured him.

 

“I don’t follow.”

 

He blinked. “Your Uncle. Thorin.” Bilbo replied giving a small breath of laughter, as if it were the most obvious thing in the word.

 

“Yes… what about him?”

 

“Never mind.” Bilbo murmured, shaking his head and turned away from the dwarf’s confused expression back to the crackling fire. “Never mind, it’s just my natural nosiness.”

 

“No…” Fíli replied with a small frown. “Why would I be jealous of my uncle?”

 

Bilbo laughed lightly again. “No! Jealous of your brother!”

 

“Master Baggins, what _are_ you talking about?”

 

“Because your Uncle has taken him and not you.”

 

“Of course he’s taken Kíli! He can recognise mushrooms better than this one.” Bofur butted in, leaning over with a broad grin, shaking his head lightly, before turning back to his own conversation.

 

“Uncle thought he saw some Chicken of the Woods further back in the forest but he wanted a second opinion. I can’t be trusted with something like that, what if I poisoned everyone?” Fíli explained further. “Nothing to be jealous of here.”

 

Bilbo nodded slowly. Maybe it was just a story to save face. It couldn’t be particularly pleasant to have everyone knowing you were sneaking off for intimacy with your partner. Or maybe it was the truth and they were just looking for mushrooms further back in the forest.

 

“Why would I be jealous anyway?” Fíli asked him, still confused.

 

“Well you never know what else they could be doing without you.”

 

His frown deepened. “What are you talking about?” Fíli asked, jerking himself away a little in surprise. “What else _would_ they be doing?”

 

Bilbo found himself blushing. “Well you don’t really expect an answer to that, do you?” He asked, with an incredulous look.

 

“I do actually!” He replied, rising to his feet. “What are you insinuating!?”

 

The Hobbit blinked. Surely he must know? Clearing his throat, he stood up with Fíli, placing a hand to his arm and leading him away further from the rest of the company. “I apologise, I didn’t mean to pry into goings on between you and your brother and uncle. I know it isn’t particularly polite to talk about such things, but you needn’t be embarrassed about it…”

 

He shook his head. “Master Baggins, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.” Fíli sighed.

 

“The… teaching.”

 

“The what?”

 

“The teaching.” Bilbo repeated, more sure of himself this time. “Teaching you and Kíli how to, well, please a partner. That’s where he’s gone with your brother – so they can take care of each other.”

 

Fíli froze, looking to where the Dwarf king had left with Kíli. “He’s what?” He asked, quietly, giving a thick swallow. “Taking care of him _how_?”

 

“Well I couldn’t tell you specifically.” He replied, with a small shrug. “With his hand or with his mouth... maybe more, I can’t speak for how _he_ does it exactly…”

 

“You mean fornicating, don’t you?” He mumbled, mouth dry, still staring out into the dark forest. “That they’re laying together.”

 

Bilbo nodded.

 

Fíli bolted.

 

He ran straight out into the undergrowth, off of the path towards where Thorin had noted the mushrooms to him.

 

They couldn’t be. Kíli would have said something if Thorin had tried anything untoward – besides it was out of the question that the King would ever try anything like that with his nephew. He couldn’t. But that didn’t stop Fíli running as fast as he can down the embankment where the lower path joined again.

 

That’s where the Dwarf spotted the two of them, his uncle and brother, barely visible in the darkness behind a hedge. Kíli on his knees before Thorin Oakenshield, hands at his groin and Thorin's palm resting on his shoulder, urging him on. Fíli stopped in his tracks. So it was true. Bilbo was right.

 

He paused, a hand moving to his mouth as he watched, the shadowed spectacle before him. Only the tight gasp and low groan that Thorin produced before his low murmur of “Slower… careful…” only to be met with his brother’s mumbled apology brought him back to his senses and he raced the rest of the way, knocking his Uncle to the ground with the back of his hand – an easy act when the Dwarven King was not expecting the attack as well as his standing on the uneven forest floor.

 

“ _You monster!_ ” Fíli cried, striking Thorin across the face as his brother desperately tried to tug him away by the arm. He tugged at the elder Dwarf’s hair as Thorin beneath him, tried to push him away, all three shouting various threats and obscenities in Khuzdul, until finally Kíli twisted his brother’s arm around his back forcing him to relent his attack, turning back to hold Kíli tightly in his arms sobbing softly.

 

He’d failed him. He’d failed their mother. He’d allowed Kíli to be taken advantage of and he’d never even known until Bilbo had told him. How did Bilbo even know? What had he noticed that even Fíli hadn’t? Choking back another small sob he buried his face in Kíli’s shoulder and hair.

 

Still stunned from the attack, Thorin sat up shuffling back awkwardly watching as his nephews held each other, in a state of utter confusion. For a time he said nothing, and sat, trying to catch his breath and rubbing at his bruised jaw.

 

Finally it was Kíli who broke the silence. “What is this?” He asked quietly, rubbing Fíli’s back. “What are you doing here?”

 

“He’s possessed.” Thorin growled, wiping the blood from his lip. “Or poisoned into madness.”

 

Fíli turned back to him, teeth clamped together. “You know what you did to deserve this!” He spat, shaking his head. “We trusted you and you defiled him!” He tugged Kíli back close to him, who immediately began to wriggle out of his grip.

 

“No!” Thorin argued, moving to his feet. “I have done no such thing!”

 

Kíli shook his head. “He hasn’t, Fíli, I swear it.”

 

“Oh no, just ‘taking care of each other’, of course.” Fíli growled, stumbling back to his feet. “I saw what you were doing.”

 

“Gathering mushrooms!”

 

“Oh, of course! With your hand down his trousers!”

 

Thorin shook his head quickly and gestured to his leg. “I fell while cutting down the fungus and a piece of bramble stuck itself in my thigh. I could not see to pull it out without injuring myself further so Kíli offered his hand to help, while I held the candle.”

 

Fíli cast his eye over where his trousers had torn slightly at the inner seam, with some blood stain around the tear. A bramble. He was unpicking the thorns from his leg. He almost choked on his breath looking between the two Dwarves. “I thought…”

 

“And you were incorrect.” Thorin interrupted, trying to soothe his jaw again, though nothing seemed to stop the ache. “And your reaction disappoints me.” Though he could not deny he would do the same if he ever thought either of them were being mistreated.

 

Fíli covered his face with his hands. “I cannot apologise enough… I thought…” He began again.

 

“As Uncle said, you thought wrong!” Kíli sighed. “What would ever make you think that he’d do something like that!?”

 

Fíli turned and looked behind up the dirt embankment where Bilbo was following cautiously behind him. “He-he told me that’s what you were doing. That you were…” He frowned deeply. “Why would you lie to me?”

 

Bilbo’s hands went to his mouth and he bit his lip hard. He’d done wrong. He shouldn’t have said anything. He stepped down the ledge to join the three dwarf’s and wrapped his arms tight around himself. “I’m sorry.”

 

“But why did you tell him that?” Thoron questioned. “When you knew it was false and that it would anger him!”

 

“I didn’t!” Bilbo insisted. “I mean… I didn’t know if was false… I thought…”

 

“I am beginning to doubt whether any of you actually understand thinking.” Thorin sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, lightly, finding another sore bruise from where Fíli had head-butted him in the struggle.

 

Bilbo shook his head. “I meant… the affection and care you show to them… it’s sweet… and I thought it was… well… him being your uncle and everything…”

 

“Yes! Our _Uncle_.” Fíli choked out. “He’s not going to be doing… that sort of thing with us! We’re related!”

 

“Where would you even get such an idea?” Thorin asked, still with a look of incredulity regarding the whole matter.

 

Bilbo furrowed his brow. “Well my uncle did that with me.”

 

Thorin’s eyes flicked up and he drew a long breath, but he didn’t let the shock show on his face. “What do you mean?”

 

He blinked “When an Uncle loves his nephew very much and he wants him to know how to please another, he shows him…” Bilbo repeated, just as he’d told Fíli earlier.” The three dwarves exchanged looks with one another.

 

“Is this… a common part of your culture?” Thorin asked, having got over the initial shock of his claim.

 

“Of course.” Bilbo glanced between them all, noting the small blushes over Fíli and Kíli’s cheeks and the continued look of confusion on the Dwarf King’s face. “I take it, that it isn’t normal among your people.” He sighed. “I’m sorry… I just assumed that’s what was going on… I didn’t mean for any of this…”

 

Thorin scrubbed a hand over his face and nodded. “An honest mistake.” He muttered. “If it’s common for your people then there is no reason you would not expect the same from us.”

 

“But I’ve made such a mess here…I never meant to anger or insult you!”

 

“If you thought it was natural you could not have foreseen any anger. Fíli acted rashly and should have known I would never even consider such a thing.” Thorin cast his eye over his nephew who nodded, knowing the king spoke the truth. He stepped forward and placed a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder turning him as he began the trek up the path again. “We should be getting back to camp. The Company will wonder where we’ve all got to.” He murmured. “I’m slightly concerned they didn’t hear all the shouting earlier.”

 

“Many were ready for sleep.” Fíli explained, though Thorin waved a hand to him.

 

“It’s no excuse not to be alert.” He grumbled. “If there had been a real danger Kíli and I could be dead already and they’d never even have known. Fíli stay with your brother and help him harvest the rest of the mushroom, then come back with us as quickly as you can.”

 

The Dwarf Princes nodded and Thorin put an arm tight around Bilbo’s shoulder as he lead him away. “I have never heard of such a custom.” He admits, watching the Hobbit’s expression intently.

 

“Perhaps it is just among Hobbits.”

 

“I have known Hobbits before and they never mentioned such things…”

 

“Well we’re a private, modest people.” Bilbo huffed, shifting away from Thorin’s arm. “Obviously it’s not discussed very much…even amongst ourselves.”

 

Thorin gave a slow nod and moved his arm away, putting them both behind his back as he walked.

 

“It is the Uncle who first shows…the carnal acts then.” Thorin concluded finally.

 

Bilbo nodded. “Or any…more mature family member really I suppose.”

 

“But you _do_ understand why I would not even consider such deeds with my sister-sons?”

 

He paused. “Well you love them, don’t you?” Bilbo asked, brow furrowed. “Would you not want to express that love to them?”

 

Thorin’s cheeks flushed dark but it went unseen in the dark light. “Not in such a physical sense.” He admitted. “It is a different form of love – not reaching physicality, and yet, entirely beyond it.”

 

He nodded again, though he didn’t entirely understand. But it was nice, Bilbo thought to himself, to hear Thorin talk about love in its different forms. It wasn’t a topic that the Hobbit could say had risen in conversation before but the manner in which he spoke about it was oddly poetic for the otherwise unromantic Dwarf.

 

“And when did this begin?”

 

Bilbo gave another shrug. “I was too young to remember when it began exactly. Since childhood.” He replied vaguely, unaware of how much the answer disturbed Thorin.

 

_Since childhood_. This could not be normal.

 

“Did it not feel odd,” Thorin asked, desperate to find some rationality to the situation he described. “When you sat together with your Uncle afterwards along with your family at meals and celebrations?”

 

“No.” He replied simply with a small shrug. “No one discusses it openly. Like I said, we’re a modest people. Married couples don’t even talk about their private matters with other company.”

 

Thorin took this as some kind of hint and asked no further questions regarding it. The whole concept just seemed so alien and perverse to him. Did Hobbits only have one kind of love, with erotic, physical connotations whether directed towards spouse or son, adult, tween or child?

 

“When we get back to the camp you can sleep, I will keep watch tonight.” Thorin told him and replaced his arm around the Halfling’s shoulder. “We need not discuss this with the others, I fear they will see it as unwholesome.”

 

And Bilbo nodded and allowed himself to be lead back to camp where they found most, if not all of the Company were either sleeping or readying themselves for sleep. They were closely followed by Fíli and Kíli with the chicken of the woods that no doubt would be cooked for their breakfast. Thorin took them aside and swore them to secrecy regarding what had transpired that night, and they understood.

 

They bedded down for the night with only Thorin remaining awake as he had told Bilbo he would. He sat beside his burglar as he slept and thought through what the Hobbit had told him. He’d never heard of such a practice as had been described to him by Bilbo, perhaps in isolated cases but never widespread across a culture. It unsettled him.

 

 The King was joined, some hours later, by Gandalf, who wandered back from where he had been scouting ahead for any dangers, as he often did. The two exchanged nods, but neither spoke for some time, until Thorin’s thoughts got the better of him and he turned to the old wizard and cleared his throat softly.

 

“We had an incident earlier.”

 

“I got the impression of that from your lip.” Gandalf chuckled softly. “Upset in the Company?”

 

“There was a cultural misunderstanding between Fíli and the Halfling.”

 

He paused. “Bilbo?” Gandalf furrowed his brow, glancing to where the Hobbit slept nearby. “You don’t mean to say that he did that?”

 

Thorin waved his hand in disagreement. “He led Fíli to believe I was committing unspeakable acts with his brother and, naturally, he reacted badly to the suggestion.”

 

Gandalf frowned. “And this was a cultural misunderstanding?”

 

“Well, yes.”

 

The wizard paused. “Perhaps I’m not quite following the story.” He sighed.

 

“Bilbo saw the affection I bestow to my nephews and believed that we were in a relationship similar to that which he shared with his Uncle.”

 

“Surely you can’t be suggesting…”

  
“He tells me it’s a common practice amongst Hobbits.”

 

“ _Incest_?”

 

Thorin looked back to Bilbo asleep under his jacket. “So he tells me. Since childhood.” He murmured, quietly.

 

“Thorin, I have spent a great many years among Hobbits and have never heard of such practices.” Gandalf admitted. “I feel that maybe he has been mislead.” He added silently.

 

And silence hung over the pair, save for the crackling of the fire.

 

“Was his uncle particularly…predatory?” Thorin asked eventually, feeling sick to his stomach at the idea.

 

Gandalf thought for a moment. “He had many uncles in both sides of the family, and I knew most of them personally. There was nothing I noticed that would lead me to believe he was being taken advantage of.”

 

“Perhaps it was one of the uncles you didn’t know well.” He suggested.

 

“Perhaps…”

 

“Admittedly there were manyyears I didn’t visit.” Gandalf murmured, still looking back in his memory for any sign at all that he may have missed at the time.

 

“He seemed so adamant that it was normal. That it was done by all Hobbits, but their private nature meant that it went unspoken.”

 

“Maybe lies implanted by his uncle to stop him from discussing it?”

 

“Or some self-justification that he came up with later to cope with the idea?”

 

“Perhaps.” The wizard mumbled, brow still heavily furrowed. “In the morning I will take him aside and discuss it further with him.”

 

Thorin looked up to Gandalf at that. “Are you sure that would be wise?”

 

“It is only fair that he knows the truth.”

 

“I won’t see him hurt.” Thorin replied quickly. “If knowing what his uncle did to him was wrong will hurt him I won’t allow it.”

 

“He deserves to know, regardless of what pain it will cause him.”

 

The dwarf shook his head. “I will not allow it. I have already told my nephews that it is not to be spoken about and suggested to Bilbo that he not mention it to others. The matter is dealt with.”

 

“If you were in his place, would you not want the truth?”

 

Thorin hunched in on himself and ignored the question. “He treated it as an act of love - how am I to let him know that he has been defiled by his Uncle?”

 

“You aren’t.” Gandalf sighed. “I knew him as a child, it is my responsibility.”

 

“I am leader of this company.”

 

“And a leader should not involve himself too deeply in the emotional affairs of his party. _I_ will speak to Bilbo.”

 

Thorin relented finally and nodded slowly, covering his face with his hands. “I can not imagine what evil would possess his uncle to do that to him as a child.”

 

“As a child.” Gandalf repeated absently. “He was so spirited and sprightly. I never even noticed anything was amiss…”

 

Thorin stared off into the distance before shifting closer to Bilbo. “I guarantee that I will let nothing like it happen again.”

 

“Nothing like what?”

 

Gandalf and Thorin glanced to where in the darkness the voice had come from. They’d woken Balin.

 

Clearing his throat, Thorin sat up straighter. “I lost my footing while collecting the mushrooms and almost lost the key in the dark.” He lied, calmly.

 

“It was found again of course.” Gandalf interrupted. “But not an incident to be repeated.”

 

There came a small hum from Balin as he considered their story before turning over away from the fire. “Well make sure it isn’t.” He yawned, settling again.

 

Thorin breathed a slight sigh of relief and warmed his hands on the embers at the edge of the fire pit. If Bilbo had to be told the truth he could at least save him the embarrassment of everyone else knowing.

 

He waited till he was sure Balin was asleep again before he began talking to Gandalf again, only to find that the wizard was also sleeping. With a weak smile he tugged Bilbo’s blanket higher over his shoulder and continued the watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt at Hobbit fanfiction, so please let me know if there's any mistakes or anything I should change or edit.
> 
> For updates and other work please follow me on tumblr:
> 
> http://half-of-a-halfling.tumblr.com/


	2. Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a frost sets in, the Company takes refuge at an inn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos, it feels good.
> 
> This chapter was a lot harder to write and I meant for more to happen but that has now been moved to Chapter 3, which will be added soon. Who would have thought it would be so hard to write a second chapter of something that you only planned a beginning and end to??? Lessons have been learned.

It was only at first light that Thorin realised he’d fallen asleep at some point in the small hours of the morning and the fire had burned itself down to embers and ash. He sat up quickly and looked around to see that only a few of the Dwarves were already awake and repacking their belongings.

 

Scrubbing a hand down over his face, he found one cheek damp from the dewy grass that he’d spent the night on and his jaw still sore. Thorin sighed softly, remembering the events of the previous evening before his attention flicked back round to the tall figure he sensed behind him.

 

“I woke in the night and you were on the cusp of sleep.” Gandalf explained, smiling at Thorin’s confused expression. “I took over the watch for you.”

 

He gave a slow nod and mumbled his gratitude, brow still furrowed, as he rose to his feet, dusting off his side and straightening his back. With the revelations from the last night still hung heavily in his mind, Thorin joined with the rest of the woken Dwarves and began to pack up his things.

 

Gandalf followed after him and leant down to murmur to the king. “I will wait until we’ve stopped again, for the night, to tell Bilbo.” To this, Thorin nodded. “I will take him aside in a quiet moment and explain it to him. You are not to be there in this moment, you are not to eavesdrop and you are not to interfere, is that understood?”

 

Thorin paused, wrinkling his nose a little as he tried to ignore the final part of Gandalf’s order, turning away to continue packing his bag.

 

“Thorin Oakenshield.” Gandalf murmured in a warning tone, gripping his shoulder to pull him back close. “You are to stay out of these affairs entirely, _is that understood_? You possess neither the tact nor the diplomacy for such matters.”

 

The Dwarf tugged himself away from the Wizard’s grip but conceded. “It is understood.” He muttered bitterly and crossed the camp, lightly kicking two of the still sleeping company members till they woke.

 

“Get up. We’re moving on.” Thorin huffed, extinguishing the last of the glowing ashes with the thick heel of his boot. “We’ll miss breakfast and eat at lunch.” He announced, silencing the groans that followed with a sharp glare and then moved to the other side of the camp to kneel where he’d previously slept.

 

He leaned over the still sleeping hobbit and pursed his lips inwardly, considering the course of action to take.

 

“Master Baggins?” He muttered softly close to his ear. “Master Baggins, we’re leaving soon…Bilbo?”

 

And Bilbo stirred slightly, but woke no more than quietly mumbling something unintelligible and turning over to face away from Thorin. The Dwarf frowned, and settled a hand on his shoulder, shaking his arm a little, but jerked it back when he felt his burglar twitch under his palm. He sensed Gandalf’s gaze upon him and tried to ignore his stare.

 

“You’ll do well to remember that he’s the same Hobbit as he was yesterday.” The wizard muttered as he passed him, straightening out areas of their encampment to disguise the fact that they’d stayed there that night.

 

“I am aware.” Thorin snapped and this was enough to wake Bilbo, who sat up with a start, blinking at his surroundings until he remembered where he was.

 

-o-

 

The company set off without incident, with neither Fíli nor Kíli mentioning the events of last night. Thorin was questioned lightly, regarding his bruised jaw, by Nori and later Dwalin, but shrugged it off with the same lie about losing his footing and tumbling down the undergrowth.

 

The remainder of their travel through the forest was straight and level, once they’d re-joined the path, despite Gandalf’s previous advice to leave the trail to avoid other travellers. Thorin intended to ignore a lot of the grey wizard’s advice that didn’t quite suit him.

 

“I’ve consulted the maps and there is a settlement not far from here, which I’m sure we can reach by this evening.” Dori announced as they left the forest. “To the best of my knowledge there’s an inn where we can bed down for the night.”

 

“Good.” Agreed Gandalf, with a slow nod of his head. “I fear a frost tonight. It would be better if we slept indoors.”  

 

Thorin exchanged a brief look with him before the wizard glanced back to Bilbo, dragging his feet behind the company, as he was often known to do. It would be better, the two agreed independently of one another, to tell him at the inn. Thorin hated the idea of Bilbo having the news broken to him in whatever form it took, only to sleep outside in the cold open grass. At least at the inn he could have that modicum of warmth and privacy and a proper bed of his own.

 

The Dwarf King didn’t speak to Bilbo until they finally stopped for lunch by a shallow stream and even then it wasn’t through his own choice. The Halfling approached him as he ate some of the bread and cheese he’d taken from the last village they’d stopped in.

“Do you need anything, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, raising an eyebrow as Bilbo stood before him. He nodded to his side, encouraging the Hobbit to take a seat on the ground beside him, but the gesture seemed to go unnoticed and Bilbo continued to stand.

 

“I wanted to apologise again for last night.” He mumbled, and Thorin’s eyes darkened a little and he looked down to the bread in his hands instead.

 

“Pray don’t mention it.”

 

“I want to mention it.”

 

Thorin shifted uncomfortably. “We don’t need to discuss it further. I don’t blame you for what happened and I don’t need you to apologise.”

 

Bilbo bit the inside of his lip, folding his arms before he finally sat down beside Thorin. “You lied to the others, didn’t you?” He mumbled finally and the Dwarf nodded.

 

“It wasn’t necessary to explain what really happened. And I meant it when I said we didn’t need to discuss it further.” He told Bilbo quietly, remembering Gandalf’s words.

 

_‘...Neither the tact, nor the diplomacy for such matters.’_

Thorin tore off half of the bread and handed it to Bilbo, who mumbled his thanks and began to eat it. He was missing the meals he would otherwise be getting at home. Meals weren’t guaranteed on their journey and it was having a great impact on the Hobbit. He’d lost weight, he slept longer and he walked slower. Thorin would make sure he had a full dinner when they reached the inn.

 

“I _am_ sorry about what happened.” Bilbo insisted quietly.

 

“Don’t mention it.” He repeated, with a much firmer tone this time.

 

-o-

 

Dusk fell before they reached the settlement that Dori had mentioned, with far too much time having been spent at their midday stop. The trail out of the valley was easy to navigate but seemed to stretch on leagues further than they expected.

 

When they finally came to the inn, it was almost entirely dark and Gandalf prediction had come to fruition, the temperature had dropped and the company could see their own breath in white misty clouds, like pipe smoke, in front of their faces.

 

With Gandalf leading at the front, Thorin stood at the back of the party with Bilbo propped against his arm, fatigued from hunger and the journey, as they were lead into the entrance hall, with a thick stone floor and furs adorning its walls. It was a pleasant, warm place with lit torch at each of the two doorway on either side and a ring of twelve candles suspended on four metal chains suspended from the ceiling, illuminating the hallway.

 

For the most part, the Dwarves kept their hoods up to disguise their identities from the innkeeper and any of the other patrons of the inn, who sat at tables, drinking their ale in a room to the left of the hall. Gandalf negotiated their room rates before half of the Company were ushered up the wooden staircase, single file, to their rooms. The remainder of the group stayed downstairs and moved through into the tavern and took up seats at a table in the corner.

 

Bilbo was part of the group that remained downstairs, at Thorin’s insistence that he had a full dinner. He sat nearest the fire, half asleep, leant against the King’s arm, with his cloak wrapped around his shoulders.

 

“Hobbits aren’t the hardiest things are they?” Dwalin huffed, wrinkling his nose and taking a swig of his drink.

 

“Too used to home comforts!” Gloin laughed, shaking his head, which disturbed Bilbo a little from his rest and he looked around, blearily for a moment, adjusting to the unfamiliar surroundings of the tavern.

 

As the serving girl brought them their supper, which took the form of several bowls of hot chicken broth, Thorin tapped the Halfling’s back lightly with the heel of his hand, nodding to the bowl placed in front of him and passing him a spoon.

 

The scent of hot food woke him Bilbo silently returned the nod with one of his own and began to sip the broth slowly, sighing gently at the way it warmed his stomach. It was spiced and thick and tasty and he wished he could have it every evening, though he knew it was an impossibility. But for now he could enjoy it until his arm became too heavy for him to lift and he sat dozing softly, still hungry but too tired to feed himself.

 

Gloin laughed again as he watched the Halfling doze against the table top but Thorin sighed and tapped his back again until Bilbo sat up a little and looked to him. He took the spoon up and began to feed him the soup, slowly in small mouthfuls.

 

Bilbo hummed softly as he was spoon fed and smiled as much as he could, eyes closed, albeit awake. He enjoyed being able to support himself against the mountain king’s shoulder and sup at the broth being brought to his mouth. And it was like this that he finally fell asleep completely.

 

His slumber was only realised by Thorin when he prodded at his lips with the spoon and he didn’t open his mouth. Raising his eyebrow he looked down to the Halfling and smiled softly letting him sleep as he continued his conversation with his friends opposite him.

 

“You don’t seem yourself.” Balin murmured, frowning at Thorin. It was a view shared by many of the Dwarves but it would only ever be someone who knew him as well as Balin, who would dare to tell him such things.

 

“Who else would I be?” The Dwarf King huffed. Balin smiled sympathetically and shook his head.

 

“You seem tense.” He explained simply, gesturing to the hard grip he had on his mug. “You can’t justify the decisions you’re making.”

 

“You doubt my decisions?”

 

“We should have eaten breakfast this morning. We would have travelled faster and we wouldn’t have had to spend so much time resting at midday.”

 

Thorin shook his head quickly. “The time spent eating breakfast would have offset any time we may have saved at lunch.” He sighed and ran a hand over his tired face.

 

“At least we might have had three meals.” Dwalin interrupted.

 

“It cannot be helped now.” He replied, waving a hand, flippantly.

 

“Ay, but it can be helped tomorrow. We’re having food before we set off.” It wasn’t a suggestion, so much as a demand.

 

Thorin wrinkled his nose but relented, giving a nod. “If the Company wishes it.”

 

“We do.” Balin agreed and Thorin glanced around the table to find the other Dwarves nodding.

 

He was silent for a time before he rose to his feet, keeping Bilbo supported with his hand. “If there’s no further business to discuss, I’ll bid you all a good night.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes a little as he lifted Bilbo from his chair, much to the entertainment of Gloin and Dwalin who began to snigger softly, even after catching Thorin’s warning glare.

 

He carried Bilbo from the tavern up to the staircase, which was too narrow for him to lift him and ascend it at the same time. Setting the Hobbit down on the bottom step, Thorin looked up to the landing and found Gandalf standing there with a frown, eventually moving down the steps.

 

“Is he drunk?” He questioned, studying Bilbo’s limp form.

 

Thorin shook his head. “Just exhausted.” He paused. “Don’t tell him tonight. He hadn’t the strength to feed himself, he certainly can’t handle news like this.”

 

“Then when am I to tell him?”

 

He wet his lips, thinking the idea over. “When you see fit.” Thorin answered eventually, lifting Bilbo again to pass him up to Gandalf. He knew the Wizard wouldn’t take kindly to his real opinion of ‘Never’.

 

Gandalf nodded. “And if I see now to be fit?” He asked, raising his brows.

 

“Then so be it.” Thorin told him, doing his best to hide the sadness in his voice.

 

They exchanged one last nod, before Gandalf turned and carried Bilbo up the stairs to the room he would be sharing with the Halfling, leaving Thorin to climb up slowly afterwards, moving through to the room he was sharing with his nephews.

 

Fíli sat up instinctively as he heard the bolt lift on the thick oak door and remained sat in his bed until he could be sure that it was Thorin coming to bed and not a would be-robber or assassin. He lay back and after a time heard the noise of his the elder Dwarf’s heavy boots hitting the wood floor as he took them off.

 

“Uncle,” he mumbled finally, waiting for Thorin to murmur a quiet ‘yes’. “Do Hobbits really sleep with their relatives?”

 

Thorin didn’t reply. His mind was still burdened with the idea that Bilbo, across the hall, was being told everything by the old Wizard.

 

“Uncle?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then why did-”

 

“You haven’t told anyone about that, have you?”

 

“No.”

 

“Good. Don’t. It isn’t a matter up for discussion.” Thorin muttered, blowing out the last candle on his bedside table.

 

-o-

 

Gandalf lay the sleeping Halfling into the bed. He’d fought the good fight against extreme fatigue for the most part on the journey to Erebor.

 

Thorin was right, he decided before settling into the bed opposite. However pressing the information was, it could wait until the next night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There'll be a rough illustration of the inn on my tumblr at some point, because I know you guys are all about architecture in your fanfiction. I know I am. 
> 
> half-of-a-halfling.tumblr.com


	3. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Thorin both misunderstand each other and Bilbo is forced to accept what has been done to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I moved and have little internet and the only books I have access to are Return of the King and the Silmarillion. There may be some pause before the next chapter because I've been very busy. 
> 
> This chapter goes on a bit. I had to rewrite it about four times and I'm still not completely happy with it but I'd rather post it than risk having to leave it for another month or so. Any feedback is appreciated as ever, but events get quite heavy from here on, so if any of the subject matter offends or upsets you, maybe stop here.

_“I love you.”_

_He remembered the first time his uncle had told him that as he sat on his lap one afternoon._

_“And of course, you love me too…”_

_And of course, Bilbo had bashfully nodded yes, glancing down to where the older Hobbit’s hand had moved to settle on his stomach, eyes wide as his thumb slipped under his shirt to rub at the skin of his abdomen._

_It was like this for quite a while, to the best of Bilbo’s memory – a year at the least. Just odd, little comments like that, coupled with his uncle touching his bare torso, but in time it had escalated to become much more._

_Now an adult, Bilbo thought about it sometimes. Not often. It wasn’t proper to think about such things too much, whether loving or not. It was private._

 

-o-

 

The frost turned to snow by morning and the valley was coated with a white blanket, which would be much to the annoyance of several members of The Company who had left windows in their room open overnight.

 

Bilbo woke early at the feel of the cold wind that nipped through the cracks in the wall and the window frame and he rolled over away from the draft, curling his legs up to his chest and pulling the blanket up over his head and tucking it under himself till he was fully cocooned in his sheets.

 

It was in this enveloped state that he began to realise that he didn’t quite remember going to bed. He recalled eating his soup… then being fed his soup, something, no doubt, that the Dwarves would never let him forget… but then there wasn’t very much else between then and when he’d woken in the night with the remaining buttons on his jacket digging into his ribs, and fell asleep again after shedding his coat.

 

Then the shame set in as he realised it was more likely than not that he had given in to his tiredness and had fallen asleep at the table.

 

The sky outside was still dim when Bilbo finally determined it would be better to get up, unable to sleep in the draft no matter how fatigued he still felt. He’d go down to the kitchen, he decided, find something to eat and then go back and try for a few more hours, or so, of sleep before they invariably would have to move on.

 

As quietly as he could, he slipped from his bed and out onto the landing where he wrapped his arms around himself, wishing he’d taken the blankets with him. But the old, wooden door had creaked when he opened it and the floorboards had squeaked lightly where he trod and he didn’t want to risk waking Gandalf or anyone else, lest they suggest that it was time to be getting back on the road and no longer a time for sleeping.

 

Bilbo softly padded downstairs to find no one around. It must’ve been earlier than he’d suspected if even the innkeeper was still asleep. After touring the inn for a while longer and finding himself too shy to help himself to something from the kitchen, he began to make his way up back to his room.

 

It was only there on the landing again that the Halfling found himself in a quandary, in that he couldn’t quite remember which room was his – he hadn’t taken the time to remember when he’d gone downstairs and since he’d apparently been put there the night previously, he clearly couldn’t recall where to go from then. He stood at the top of the stair looking at each door as he nibbled lightly at his lower lip, stuffing his hands to his armpits for warmth.

 

Well he couldn’t spend the rest of the night out in the hall, Bilbo told himself. He’d have to take a chance and just guess which door was the right one. Taking a deep breath he stepped forward to a door that looked similar to the one he’d left from earlier… though that being said, they all looked near enough the same in the near pitch darkness.

 

The door creaked open much in the same way it had earlier but Bilbo was still apprehensive and paused for a moment before peeking round the door.

 

Thorin sat up at the first sound of the latch shifting on the door and watched warily as it opened and the figure stepped inside. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and it was only after some time had passed that he realised it was the Hobbit, timidly standing in the doorway, his small body pressed close against the wooden frame.

 

“Master Baggins?” He murmured softly, scrubbing a hand over his face and Bilbo made a small nervous noise as he realised he’d clearly chosen incorrectly.

 

“Sorry…” He whispered. “Sorry, I didn’t know where to go…”

 

Thorin’s expression softened and he nodded.

 

It was clear to him what he meant.

 

Gandalf had obviously ignored Thorin’s wishes and had told Bilbo and he’d come looking for some kind of comfort in response to the information. “It’s alright. I understand…” He murmured.

 

Bilbo nodded, mumbling another apology for waking him but Thorin waved his hand to it. “There’s no need for that.” He told him and stepped out of bed and began to approach him with his arms spread wide.

 

Bilbo in return furrowed his brow a little, hunching his shoulders at the reaction and shying away a little. His response worried Thorin who lowered his arms and instead, placed a hand to the Halfling’s shoulder, head tilted lightly as he ushered him into the room.

 

“You’re shaking.” Thorin commented and Bilbo nodded, looking to the princes and then back to their Uncle with an anxious expression.

 

“I’m…cold.”

 

The Dwarf King led Bilbo to the bed and sat down with him against the edge, pulling up the sheets around the smaller being’s shoulders. “Is that better?”

 

The Hobbit hummed softly in agreement but still chewed at his lip. “Yes but… maybe I ought to go back to my own bed…”

 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Thorin told him quickly, following Bilbo’s eye line to his nephews. “Don’t worry about them, they won’t wake for a while longer. If you want to stay here, you can.”

 

“But this is your bed…” Bilbo was beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable with the whole situation, if he was honest.

 

“And you can have it for the rest of the night, if it helps.”

 

“Helps?”

 

“With…how you’re feeling.”

 

Bilbo furrowed his brow but nodded. He couldn’t deny his bed was nice. The sheets were soft and warm from where they’d been slept in not so long ago. “I couldn’t take your bed from you.” He finally sighed, though he was beginning to consider the idea.

 

“You could. You can.”

 

“I can’t.”

 

Thorin finally made a noise of acceptance and folded his hands in his lap. “You just wanted to talk then?”

 

Bilbo furrowed his brow. “Not…particularly.” He answered, confused again as to what Thorin meant exactly though he was a bit too prideful in himself to admit it. He’d already said so many times that he didn’t want to talk about what had happened in the forest, but there didn’t seem to be much else to talk speak of. Except…

 

It was clear to him what he meant.

 

It was his falling asleep at dinner. Thorin was obviously worried that maybe he was too weak to continue on with the journey to Erebor.

 

Thorin sighed softly and nodded. “I understand.” But then why had the Hobbit come to him? Not to discuss things, not for physical comfort… maybe just for reassurance? He cleared his throat to cover for the fact that he was still thinking for something to say. Gandalf was right, he realised as a passing notion. Thorin wouldn’t have been the right person to confess to Bilbo what had really happened to him. Part of him was glad the wizard was the one to tell him, though it still saddened him to know that he’d been told. “You’ve done nothing wrong though.” He added quietly with a weak smile.

 

Bilbo blinked. “Well it was my fault.” He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “I was… weak, really.”

 

Thorin shook his head quickly and squeezed his arm with his strong grip. “You’re not weak, Bilbo.” He insisted. “You’re not. I don’t think that. Gandalf doesn’t think that. It wasn’t your fault at all.”

 

Bilbo shifted a little, looking to the hand on his forearm and then up to Thorin’s ever sincere face. “You’re sure?”

 

“You’ve done nothing wrong.” He repeated, just as firmly as before and loosened his grip on the Halfling’s arm, turning away. “But that being said… if you don’t want to continue on with us...” He looked back to Bilbo, tilting his head. “I’d arrange for you to be taken home.” He couldn’t stop the quest to help, as much as he wanted to escort him home personally but at the very least he could lose a member of the Company to make sure his burglar made it back to The Shire safely.

 

“I don’t want to go home.” Bilbo told him, adamantly. “I want to stay with the Company, I want to help!”

 

The Dwarf King couldn’t help but admire his tenacity, through all that had happened. “Well as long as you’re with us, I promise I won’t let it happen to you again.” He sighed. “I’ll look after you.”

 

Bilbo pursed his lips inwardly. “I don’t think you can really promise me that.”

 

“I can and I am. I lead the Company and I look after its members.”

 

“Well it’s sort of out of your control.”

 

“I will keep it within my control.”

 

Bilbo nodded finally and wrapped the blankets round him a bit further.

 

“You should sleep.”

 

Bilbo nodded to that too.

 

“My offer of the bed is still open.” Thorin reminded him before he paused. “I’m not…looking for anything more from you.” He added quietly and Bilbo looked to him, shocked. He hadn’t even considered it.

 

“I know.” He replied quickly, tensing a little. “I didn’t think you were.”

 

“I just want you to be comfortable.”

 

Bilbo leaned back on the bed with a small yawn. He couldn’t ignore how tired he still was. “I am comfortable.”

 

“Then sleep.”

 

“I ought to go back to my bed.” Bilbo repeated, but he didn’t move.

 

“I’ll take your bed.”

 

“No…” Bilbo mumbled, shaking his head slowly. “No, my room is too cold. Just…stay.” He wasn’t sure why he’d asked it of him. Just some mix of fatigue and the fact that Thorin being close to him wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling.

 

Thorin paused with a small frown to the request. But if Bilbo was feeling as vulnerable as he suspected…who was he to deny him?

 

“As you wish.” He muttered with a thick swallow, the Dwarf leaned back on the bed with him, tucking Bilbo further under the sheets as he lay beside him, without covers.

 

 Bilbo smiled softly and curled up again in the warmth, shifting close against Thorin’s side. He fell asleep soon after face buried in the Dwarf’s shoulder and palms pressed against his arm. Thorin stayed awake a while longer, till he could be sure Bilbo was settled before he allowed himself to succumb to sleep again, rolling from his back to his side, bringing Bilbo close against his broad chest and wrapping his arms around his back.

 

-o-

_“It’s because I love you so much, you understand?”_

_Bilbo hadn’t really understood, if he was honest. It didn’t feel like love. Not like his mother’s love or his father’s love, which had been the only love he’d really known at that young age. But he nodded, regardless and turned away from his Uncle’s broad smile though the elder Hobbit simply turned his head back to face him again._

_“Do you really understand?”_

_“Yes.” He’d lied quietly, trying to ignore the hand on his knee and the other carding gently through his short curls. He tended to ignore a lot of what went on. Just sort of faded out into his own thoughts or occasionally complete blankness, because when he didn’t, he’d fidget and shy away from the touches or make noises of discontent and Uncle didn’t like that._

_So he just sat as still as he could and ignored what was going on. It was because he loved him so much, he reminded himself. Otherwise, why would he do it?_

_And in time he grew to believe it too._

 

-o-

 

When The Hobbit woke for the second time, he was warm from the blankets and Thorin’s body heat. He lay still for a moment, recalling why exactly he was wrapped in the Dwarf’s strong arms and finally remembered their talk, very early that morning.

 

He didn’t move from the grip for some time as the thought over what had been said. Thorin had told him he could leave. He’d said it before on several occasions, but this time was different in many respects. In the times before he’d always been telling him he ought to leave, this time, the idea was brought up with reluctance. As though he wanted him to stay with The Company. Even though he’d caused the fight in the forest. Even though he’d shown his weakness at dinner.

 

Bilbo smiled to himself and nuzzled close again, putting his arms around Thorin’s middle, giving a long exhale as he nosed at his chest, enjoying the rise and fall against his cheek as the Dwarf breathed. It was nice. Warm.

 

After a time Thorin groaned softly and instinctively squeezed the Halfling in his arms, producing a small noise from Bilbo as the grip around him tightened a little. Thorin blinked awake, looking down to Bilbo before clearing his throat and shifting back on the bed, a difficult feat considering the bed was only slightly bigger than a single.

 

“My apologies.” He mumbled0, clearing his throat once again watching Bilbo blush lightly. The Hobbit moved back further as well until his back touched the wall and he had nowhere further to go and he folded his arms across his chest.

 

“Nothing to apologise for.”

 

Thorin nodded slowly, his vision attuning to the dim light of sunrise outside the window and he could see how worried Bilbo looked, pressed back against the wall.

 

“Pray don’t be afraid.”

 

“I’m not afraid.” Bilbo replied quickly and it was the truth. He was embarrassed, but he wasn’t scared. He’d been invited to the Dwarf King’s bed, told him to stay with him and then curled up against him in the night. He couldn’t do that. Not with the leader of the company. What would Thorin think of him?

 

“I should go and find my room.” Bilbo whispered and sat up, untangling himself from where the sheets had wrapped around him, and hunched his shoulders. His eyes fixed across the room where Kíli was watching him from his bed across the shadowy room and his breath caught in his throat.

 

Thorin looked over to his nephew and swallowed thickly, thinking over his words carefully. “Yes, go back to your room please.” He muttered. He was not going to have any miscommunication from the Hobbit interrupting or being confused with his account of events.

 

“What are you doing?” Kíli mumbled with a frown as he watched Bilbo hop down from the bed, leave the room and let the door behind him all the time hiding his face in his hands.

 

Thorin scrubbed a hand down over his mouth and chin. “Master Baggins came to me for some comfort and guidance regarding a personal issue. He was cold and tired and I let him sleep in my bed but he didn’t feel comfortable sleeping alone so I stayed. Our time together was chaste and innocent I swear to you.”

 

Kíli looked incredulous and glanced to the door that Bilbo had just exited through before fixing his gaze on his Uncle again. “Was this about what he said in the forest?”

 

“It was.” He answered eventually. It was no use hiding it from him. It would only make Kíli suspicious of what he had seen that morning.

 

“Hobbits don’t sleep with their relatives do they?”

 

Another long pause. “They don’t.”

 

“Just Bilbo?”

 

“He was mislead.”

 

“Violated?”

 

“Taken advantage of.” Thorin murmured firmly, looking down at himself, so as not to see how his sister-son wrinkled his nose so. “I’m not entirely sure of how wrong he knew it was…Gandalf sat him down and told him last night. Obviously it bothered him no small bit and he came looking for support a few hours past midnight and the rest goes without saying again.”

 

“After he went downstairs.” Kíli added.

 

“Sorry?”

 

“He went downstairs. Or someone did. The door woke me up and I heard someone go downstairs.” The young Dwarf explained.

 

Thorin frowned and thought for a moment before ignoring it with a small shake of his head. “Regardless, this matter goes no further.” He muttered and Kíli nodded quickly.

 

“I won’t tell anyone else.”

 

“That includes Fíli.” He warned in a low growl.

 

“What includes me?” The young Durin asked sleepily, raising himself up on the bed with his elbows.

 

Thorin blinked looking to his elder nephew.

 

“What we know about Bilbo.” Kíli interrupted and Thorin shot him another warning glance.

 

“What about Bilbo? About what he told me?” Fíli asked, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

 

“Yes. I don’t want you even discussing it between yourselves.” Thorin told him and Kíli nodded.

 

He looked between his brother and uncle. “And that’s all?”

 

“That’s all there is.” Thorin murmured. “Now sleep. I’ll wake you in an hour.”

 

-o-

 

Bilbo walked along the hallway, peeking through the keyholes and the cracks and gaps in the doors, until he saw the tell-tale silhouette of Gandalf’s tall hat, hanging from one of the bedposts. He worried at his lip and slipped inside, tucking himself up in his cold bed and pulling the covers up over his head, closing his eyes tight.

 

He shouldn’t have stayed. No matter how nice it was to be held for a few hours, he shouldn’t have done it.

 

Bilbo hadn’t shared a bed with anyone for some time now. Not since his Uncle… no, there had been another not two years earlier, where he lay, after long hours of ale and sweet wine at a Midsummer party, with Amaranth Brandybuck, though he was some years her elder at this time, with her being barely 35.

 

It felt so natural to feel his hand at her bare breast and her cheek on his collarone but it’s not this that he thinks of as he hides in his bed. He thinks of the times as he matured as a tween that he stayed alone with his Uncle, overnight, under the guise of long weekends camping in the forest or by the water to fish.

 

And it’s the mornings following those nights that he thought of. Of waking early and slipping from under the elder Hobbit’s arm and moving to the edge of the water or to a clearing in the trees to be alone with his thoughts. And how inevitably his Uncle would join him and sit by his side and rub his shoulder and tell him how good he was and how much he was improving. And then he’d remind him again of how private an act this was and how it ought to remain between them, lest he upset his mother and father with the vulgarity.

 

And that’s how it always was, Bilbo assumed.  He never spoke of the acts between him and his Uncle and he didn’t talk about his night with Amaranth, even to his close friends, and now he just wouldn’t mention how he’d shared a bed with Thorin in the small hours of the morning. It was private.

 

He slept a third time back in his own bed, despite the cold. It was a light sleep. More akin to simply lying still and silent, unseeing and unhearing than to anything that could really be called slumber. It lasted less than an hour before he was stirred from this state by Gandalf, pulling back the blankets from over his head. Bilbo jerked at the motion and hid his face in the pillow until he heard the wizard’s voice and knew it to be him and not a stranger.

 

“Are you well enough rested?”

 

Bilbo gave a small hum but kept himself covered for the most part.

 

“I’ve brought you some breakfast.” He told the Halfling nodding to the bread and cheese beside him and Bilbo mumbled his thanks and sat up a little, taking some of the bread to his mouth.

 

“It snowed in the night, were you cold?”

 

“Yes.” Bilbo whispered with a small incline of his head to the window. “But I ignored it.”

 

Gandalf nodded and took a seat on the edge of his bed, wrapping his long grey cloak around his shoulders as he looked to the window. “Some of the Dwarves are discussing staying a second night to see if the weather improves.” He told him. “They don’t like the idea of attempting to reach the Greenwood border in the snow.”

 

“How far are we from Greenwood?” Bilbo asked, chewing slowly on the bread.

 

“A day closer than we were when we set out yesterday.” Gandalf sighed before chuckling softly to himself. “Maybe a day and a half away.” He answered finally after some thinking. “But that’s if we leave now. Which we won’t. And if we don’t stop for food and rest. Which we will.”

 

He nodded and looked down to his food and a few minutes passed before Gandalf spoke to him again. “I was going to save this for the evening but now seems a good a time as any.” He muttered. “Thorin told me something important and I feel we should discuss it.”

 

Bilbo felt his cheeks burn and he shook his head. Whether it was about the events of the night prior or even the night before that, he didn’t want to talk about it. His mind was made up about that. Gandalf could tell him whatever he liked, any questions would go unanswered and any statements would be ignored.

 

“Which Uncle were you talking about when you spoke to him?” Gandalf asked quietly but this was met with another shake of Bilbo’s head. “It’s important.” The wizard insisted, furrowing his brow. “I won’t force you to say, but I’d appreciate it.”

 

Bilbo stayed silent, ignoring even the cheese and bread crust that sat on the plate on his legs.

 

“Is he still alive?” Gandalf asked and it was answered with another cryptic headshake. “Is that to mean that he’s dead or that you don’t want to answer?” That wasn’t met with any response at all and Gandalf tried not to sigh. He didn’t want to seem impatient with the Halfling. “Please don’t think these are easy questions for me to ask you.”

 

Bilbo scowled and fixed his eyes on a knot in the wood of the floorboard before he finally answered. “Dead.” He paused before added, “Thorin told me not to tell the other Dwarves. He said that they’d find it unwholesome.”

 

“I’m not the other Dwarves.” Gandalf pointed out. “You can tell me anything you want to. For that matter you can tell the others what you want as well, he can’t stop you.”

“He told me not to.”

  
“And did your Uncle tell you that too?”

 

“No.” Bilbo replied quickly and it was the truth. He’d never been strictly told _not_ to talk about that. Just about how intimate these affairs were and how upset it would make others if he did speak of them. “I just didn’t. It was private.”

 

Gandalf took a deep breath and nodded, trying to hold Bilbo’s gaze as best he could, which was difficult as the Hobbit refused to look up from his own large feet.

 

“And did you know at the time that what he did to you was wrong?”

 

Bilbo clenched his teeth tightly and closed his eyes. “It wasn’t wrong!” He insisted with a violent shake of his head. “He did it because he loved me.”

 

“It _was_ wrong, Bilbo.”

 

“I wanted it just as much as he did.”

 

Gandalf paused at that and did sigh lightly this time though it was not from frustration. “You may feel that way but the fact of the matter remains. You were a child and he took advantage of your-”

 

“My naivety.” Bilbo interrupted with another scowl. “I know what you’re going to tell me Gandalf. You’re going to tell me of how he must have corrupted and manipulated me when I was young and innocent and impressionable and that’s just not true! He loved me and he wanted to show it and I loved him and I wanted to let him and that’s all there is to it!” He huffed loudly, folding his arms across his chest.

 

Gandalf wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. Thorin may have been right, he realised as a passing notion. Maybe it would be easier for someone who was able to hear these things without their heart breaking at every answer they received. Someone who could be stoic and lead and not involve themselves emotionally in these things.

 

“I just needed to know where we stood with things.” The wizard told him. “I didn’t mean to accuse you of any wrongdoing.”

 

Bilbo crossed his legs under the covers and turned to the window again. “You didn’t need to speak of it at all. It’s none of your business.”

 

“I care about you a great deal!”

 

“Then respect my wishes and don’t speak of it again.” Bilbo spat before he wrinkled his nose. “You said you talked to Thorin about this.”

 

“He told me about what happened with yourself and his nephews… I explained to him that it was not a normal custom and I’m sure he worked out the rest.”

 

 _Not a normal custom._ The words stung as he heard them and Bilbo hunched in on himself. He frowned, furrowing his brow deeply and thought for a moment.

 

“When did he tell you about it?”

 

“The night it happened. I was going to talk to you about it sooner, I promise you. I _wanted_ to talk earlier but he didn’t want it discussed in case you… well he didn’t want to upset you. He agreed I would talk with you when we stopped to rest last night but you were too exhausted.”

 

Bilbo nodded absently. “What was there to talk to me about exactly?” He asked finally, looking back to Gandalf.

 

The elder rubbed at his eyes and shifted closer to the edge of the bed. “I’m not going to say you were manipulated because I know it’s only going to make you angry. But it’s important that you know what happened to you was not done lovingly. It couldn’t be, Bilbo.”

 

“It was love.”

 

“You know deep down it wasn’t. He was exploiting you.”

 

Tears prickled at the edges of his eyes and he shook his head quickly. “He did it because he loved me.”

 

“Bilbo if you had a little niece or a nephew and you loved them very dearly, would you do to them as your Uncle did to you?”

 

“That’s not fair of you to ask.” He muttered, shaking his head. “I have no nieces or nephews in any case.”

 

“You thought it only natural that Thorin was sleeping with his.”

 

“That’s not kind and it’s not fair!” Bilbo shouted, curling up onto his side. “I wouldn’t…”

 

Gandalf moved to his side and to the edge of his bed stroking his shoulder softly, an act that the Hobbit cringed at. “Because you know it’s not the right thing to do.”

 

Bilbo clenched his fists and nodded, letting the tears come now, soaking his pillow as he buried his face into the fabric, muffling his sobs. Gandalf sat by his side during this time and continued to rub at his arm to comfort him, despite Bilbo’s stifled protests and quiet, tearful demands to leave him be. It was only when the Halfling began to strike out with his fists and feet that the wizard felt it was time to let him be by himself for a time and left him with the promise that he’d return with some cold water and a flannel so he could wash his face.

 

Bilbo had to return to some level of normalcy soon and he knew it. If the Company did decide to move on in the snow, then they wouldn’t be waiting for him to stop crying and pack his things together. They’d move on without him and he’d be left alone.

 

But even that knowledge wasn’t enough to calm him. He sobbed in his bed until his head throbbed painfully and his breath was wheezy and his eyes sore. Bilbo wished he hadn’t sent Gandalf away. The oldest friend he had here – the only one who really knew him. He wanted someone there, if only to give him a reason to compose himself.

 

Although he knew it wasn’t very much time at all, it felt as though days had passed before Bilbo finally rolled over onto his back and rubbed his eyes with his finger tips. He stared up at the ceiling open mouthed, still gasping small breaths and he tugged his shirt up over his head, losing another button from the bottom as he did so but he didn’t even notice.

 

Pink in the face, he was boiling and eventually he heaved himself from the bed and crossed the room to press his shoulder and cheek to the cold window pane, the draft from the crack in the frame cooling his chest. Bilbo sighed deeply and standing there, he almost collapsed, allowing just the window to support him as he slumped there.

 

-o-

 

“Bilbo seemed to take the news…well.” Thorin muttered quietly with a small frown as he stood close to Gandalf at the sink beside the back door of the inn, as he filled a jug with water.

 

Gandalf frowned. “I wouldn’t say that at all. He was near inconsolable. I’m surprised you didn’t hear his shouts.”

 

“He seemed quite calm when he came to me. Maybe he just needed some time to rest.”

 

“Quite calm? Be sensible Thorin.”

 

The two paused as Bifur joined them at the sink to fill his leather canteen and stood silently until he left.

 

“He told me he felt he was at fault but I convinced him otherwise.” Thorin hissed, shaking his head.

 

“Thorin I assure you that he took it anything but well. When I left him, he was wretched and sobbing in his bed!” He huffed in response.

 

The Dwarf frowned, looking up to Gandalf’s face “Then why did you leave him?”

 

He lifted the water jug. “To fetch this.” He explained, much to Thorin’s alarm as realisation dawned on him. Swallowing thickly, the Dwarf looked to the stairs and then back to Gandalf.

 

“You said you were to tell him last night!”

 

“And were he not asleep I would have! I could not bring myself to wake him, I told him when I brought him his breakfast this morning.”

 

Thorin felt his mouth dry and shook his head slowly to himself. “Then why did he come to me in the night?” He asked with a frown.

 

“He came to you?”

 

“To my room. We talked about how he was feeling at some length and then he…slept in my bed and went back to his own later.”

 

Gandalf took to a small table away from the other Dwarves to continue their conversation away from anyone else at the tap.

 

“You took him to _your bed_?” He asked, with a low sigh. “What would make you think that was a sensible course of action?”

 

“He came to me and he was cold! I put my blanket around him and he asked me to stay.”

 

Gandalf sighed again, covering his eyes with his palm. “I don’t know why he came to you Thorin but it wasn’t because I told you. And if such a situation occurs again I beseech that you don’t take the same course of action.”

 

“It was nothing more than some warmth for the night.” Thorin argued. “As though we’d shared a blanket at camp!” He chose to omit the part where they’d woken in each others arms and Bilbo had rushed back to his room under the accusing eyes of Kíli.

 

“To you, perhaps.”

 

“And to him.”

 

“And in light of what he’s been told, you don’t think he might see things differently?”

 

Thorin’s chest tightened. “I swear to Mahal I was so sure that he knew already.” He muttered. “I should explain myself to him.”

 

Gandalf grabbed his wrist. “You’ll leave him.”

 

“I’ll take him his water.”

 

He paused and considered it before releasing his arm. “Take a cloth with you so he can clean his face. However passionately you feel about it, do not discuss anything with him.”

 

Thorin nodded and took to his feet, taking the jug and the dry flannel cloth with him as he left the tables and moved to the stairs. Although he’d told others not to mention the topic many times over the past days, he was becoming weary of being ordered by the wizard not to talk to Bilbo about it.

 

He tapped at the door and waited for Bilbo’s response that didn’t come.

 

“Master Baggins?”

 

Still nothing. Maybe he was sleeping.

 

Thorin tapped at the door once more, a little more insistently and waited a third time before he peeked round the edge of the door and saw both beds empty. It took him a moment of searching the room with his eyes before he spotted him tucked behind the thin curtain at the window, bare from the waist up, pressed to the glass.

 

“Bilbo?” He asked quietly, and stepped into the room. “Come away from the window, you’ll freeze like that.”

 

“Good.” He mumbled bitterly and Thorin sighed, setting the water pitcher and cloth down.

 

“Please?”

 

Bilbo shifted from the cool relief of the glass and stood, frowning, with his fists balled by his sides, not looking at Thorin. But Thorin looked at him. His pinky-red eyes and cheeks, curled hair, damp with sweat, stuck to his forehead and his whole body shaking with cold and emotion.

 

“I’ll go if you want me to.” Thorin murmurs eventually and Bilbo doesn’t react any further than tipping his head to the side and twitching his jaw ever so slightly. As though he thought he was talking when he wasn’t.

 

“I’ll go.” The Dwarf murmurs finally with a small sigh. “Wash your face then go back to your bed and warm yourself.” But Bilbo shakes his head to this, finally looking up to Thorin with a small gasp.

 

“You don’t want your bed or you don’t want me to go?”

 

Bilbo looked to his bed and then to Thorin before mouthing ‘Stay’ and Thorin nodded, pursing his lips, as he stepped forward.

 

“I…thought Gandalf told you last night.” He admitted quietly. “And when you came to me…”

 

Bilbo gave a small whimper and stepped back away from him, wordlessly. By now he assumed that Thorin had meant more last night than his collapse at dinner.

 

Thorin stopped and put his hands to his own sides, trying not to alarm the Halfling any further. “I didn’t want him to tell you. I didn’t want you to get hurt at all, I was trying to keep you safe.”

 

The Hobbit didn’t react any further, keeping his wide eyes fixed on Thorin.

 

“But I meant everything I said last night. I don’t think you’re weak and I don’t think it was your fault.”

 

He shook his head, his curls bouncing as he did so and he didn’t stop. He stared down at the wooden floor beneath his feet and simply turned his head left and right. That wasn’t what bothered him. He knew what had happened wasn’t his fault and he didn’t think himself weak for the situation. It was different from that.

 

Betrayed – that was closer to how he felt.

 

Deceived by the Hobbit he’d always looked up to from a young age, he who’d convinced him of the love he felt for Bilbo and that that love was reciprocated. Taught him things he never should have known for such a young age and left him with that feeling of guilt for all his life.

 

He’d only ever acknowledged part of that guilty feeling, though it could not really be called guilt in any true sense. It was a pull at his chest whenever anyone mentioned their partner or any love they felt for another. A feeling that he ought not to hear of it, no matter how innocent the conversation may be. And mixed in with it, was a nagging pressure in his head that told him he could listen because it was sweet to hear how fond his cousin was of her spouse on their wedding day. But it all reminded him of how unnatural the time he’d spent with his Uncle felt.

 

It’s what had driven him to the bathroom of Bag End when he awoke after his night with Amaranth. How he’d plunged his face into the basin of very cold water, desperate to replace the feeling of her nude body against his, with some other stimulus, whatever it was.

 

No matter how pleasant it had felt at the time, it all felt so dirty and spoiled in hindsight. His Uncle, Aramanth, Thorin, all of it.

 

Whatever felt intimate in the darkness, left him feeling repulsed by morning.

 

But having it explained; having it _known_ by others seemed so very much worse to him.

 

And having to accept the wrongness of it in entirety. Not being able to hide it away in his mind with words like ‘private’ and ‘personal’. It was personal and it was private there was no disputing it, but now he had to face that it was more than that. It was _wrong._

 

-o-

 

_“Uncle Hildifons?”_

_“Yes, Bilbo?”_

_“Do you really love me?”_

_“Of course I do, my sweet flower, you mean the world to me and I love you very much. I tell you enough don’t I?”_

_Bilbo had nodded and looked to the river edge where he’d stuck his fishing pole in the thick wet mud of the bank, to keep his hands free. He watched the line intently for any twitches or tugs from under the surface of the water but when none came he turned back to his Uncle._

_“If you love me, why does it hurt?” He had murmured with a small frown. At nineteen he was becoming a little more inquisitive regarding the details of their relationship and these developments had not escaped Hildifons._

_Bilbo picked up more quickly when his explanation for things changed. What had begun as simple lies that such acts were normal between uncle and nephew switched to any relative and eventually to anyone of any age and what started as being described as an ‘act of love and display of fondness’, was quickly becoming ‘an act of duty, to teach the carnal acts’._

_“Because your body is still developing and learning.”_

_“Then why not wait when my body is developed? Then maybe it won’t hurt…”_

_  
“Because now is the right time.” Hildifons had snapped and Bilbo had been quiet again. He knew to stop the questions now and instead looked back out to the water._

_“Are you hurting now?” His Uncle had asked after a time and Bilbo had lied and shook his head. “Good. Why don’t we go back to the tent?” And to this, the tween had nodded and stood, abandoning his fishing line._

_“Do you promise you love me?”_

_“I swear on my sister, your dear mother, I love you to the ends of the earth and a little further than that.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half-of-a-halfling.tumblr.com


	4. Rumour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be edited when I reread it and find all the mistakes.
> 
> edit: Corrections have been made to all typos I have found. Tags have also been updated for what features in this chapter and future events and rating has been raised accordingly for future events and, to some extent, the end of this chapter.

“Don’t mean to intrude but I heard Bilbo shouting a lot this morning.” Bofur commented, furrowing his brow as he pulled up the chair beside Gandalf at one of the tables. “Is he alright?”

 

“No.” The wizard replied simply, staring out into the middle distance for a time, barely even registering who had asked the question.

 

“Wake him too early?” The dwarf asked with a grin.

 

Gandalf blinked, remembering himself and cleared his throat before he answered. “He’s unwell.” He told him. “Don’t disturb him please.”

 

“Unwell?”

 

“He will most likely spend the day in his room. Don’t disturb him.”

 

“Right.” Bofur nodded with a small frown. “Right, I won’t.” He paused with a frown. “Are we moving on without him then?”

 

“It’s been suggested that we all stay another night?”

 

“Because of Bilbo?”  


“Because of conditions outside.”

 

“Right.” He repeated, throwing a glance to the window. “And Thorin thinks that too?”

 

“He does.” He answered, though he had not actually discussed it with him. But given Bilbo’s reaction and need for rest it was more than likely than not that he would agree, regardless of the snow.

 

“Should I tell the others then? Make sure they all know?”

 

Gandalf frowned, coming out of his thoughts again before looking back to Bofur. “About Bilbo?”

 

“No about staying.” Bofur explained with a small breath of laughter. “I can tell them about Bilbo if you want though?”

 

“Only if they ask. And if they do, let them know he wants privacy.”

 

The Dwarf shrugged and nodded, taking a bite of the ripe pear that he’d taken from the inn’s kitchen. “Fair ‘nough.” He mumbled while chewing. “’sn’t Thorin up there with him?” Gandalf nodded.

 

“Taking him water.”

 

Bofur gave another nod. “Is Thorin okay? He’s been kind of odd.”

 

“Odd?”

 

“Distracted, you know? Bit irritated.” He wrinkled his nose. “Maybe it’s just because we’re getting close.”

 

“Perhaps.” Gandalf muttered absently. “I’m sure he had a lot on his mind.”

 

Bofur hummed softly and took another bite of the pear, wiping the juices that dripped down his chin to his goatee with the back of his coat sleeve. “Well we all do. Him more than most though I ‘spose.”

 

Gandalf gave a nod of agreement, sitting back in his chair. “Give him space.” And Bofur did similar, leaning back in the wooden chair, casting his eyes to the ceiling.

 

“D’you think there’s something going on?” He asked furtively, the broad grin returning to his face.

 

“What do you mean by that?”

 

“Well how long does it take to bring water to a room?”

 

Gandalf huffed and shook his head. “I recommend you keep those questions to yourself.”

 

“He favours Bilbo.”

 

“He does no such thing!”

 

Dwalin leaned in from the table behind where he sat eating his breakfast. “He does and all.” He agreed with a firm nod. “You think any of us would get carried off to bed?”

 

With an even broader grin that spread all across his cheeks, Bofur turned his attention to Dwalin. “He carried him?”

 

“After you’d gone to your room he fed him his broth down here and picked him up in his arms when he fell asleep.” Dwalin nodded with a grin that matched that of the other Dwarf.

 

“Aye, to his own room no less!” Gloin called out from a third table and both Dwalin and Bofur turned to him with an incredulous look along with several other Dwarves who couldn’t help but eavesdrop on their loud conversation in the tavern room.

 

“He never!” Bofur exclaimed, cheeks pinkening at the idea as he turned back to Gandalf. “And you still say he doesn’t favour him?”

 

“He didn’t come back to our room.” Fíli sighed, shaking his head. “So I don’t know where you’re getting that idea from.”

 

“The head of my bed is against the wall we share with your room and if you think it’s too thick to hear through, you’re very much mistaken.” Gloin scoffed. “Woke me up with all their talking last night.”

 

“Well, me and Kíli were _in_ that room so why didn’t we hear any of it?” He turned to his brother. “Bilbo wasn’t there was he?” And Kíli swallowed thickly and shook his head, catching Gandalf giving him a warning look. Fíli watched the younger prince for a time with a furrowed brow and made a mental note to discuss this with him further in private. “Anyway I saw him when he came up to bed and he was alone.”

 

“He was there, I heard him.” Gloin argued further but Balin rolled his eyes, deciding to add his judgement into the mix.

 

“Why would the King of Erebor fall for a Halfling he’s known for less than a month?” The elder Dwarf questioned.

 

“Lúthien fell for Beren and that was much stranger than this.” Bofur pointed out but Balin shook his head again. He didn’t care much for that story and how often it was used to justify bizarre relationships. “Is it so hard to believe that he finds the Hobbit appealing and took him to his bed? He hasn’t had much companionship on our travels and maybe he just felt a bit neglected in that area.”

 

“Perhaps I should remind you that this is your King that you speak of?” Gandalf announced finally, tired of the Dwarves speculating over the matter. “And I should also point out that it was me who put Bilbo _in his own bed, in his own room_ last night. So no more of this ‘favouring’ nonsense from any of you all.” He puffed, folding his arms across his chest.

 

“So why is there with him now?” Dwalin asked, raising an eyebrow with a slightly smug smile.

 

“Feeding him his breakfast too?” Came Gloin’s mocking suggestion, accompanied with a short laugh that showed he was pleased with himself for the reply.

 

“Cease this.” The wizard ordered, in a fiercer tone.

 

“All we’re saying is, it wouldn’t be the first time someone got lonely on the road, king or not.” Bofur sighed, with a small shrug. “If he’s fond of the Halfling so be it, who cares? Thorin’d be joking along all the same if it were one of us so why should he take offense?”

 

“Because it isn’t the case at all.” Gandalf muttered, tensing his jaw. He wouldn’t have Bilbo referred to as though he was some kind of novelty – as though it were so uproarious that one of the Dwarves would think of him tenderly. But they didn’t know, he had to remind himself. Of course the Durin princes knew some and from the look that Kíli had adopted when the topic was mentioned it seemed as though he had more than an inkling about what had transpired, but they of course were not joking with the others.

 

Bofur did his best to calm the others though he still grinned as he raised his hands, gesturing for them to quieten. “No, no, you heard it here first. We can’t make any jokes today, Bilbo’s unwell.”

 

“You told me he hurt his ankle!” Dori interrupted with a small indignant snort and Bofur looked to him with an eyebrow raised. Gandalf’s stories were becoming jumbled and it wasn’t even midday yet.

 

Kíli cleared his throat, intent on backing up whatever claims Gandalf made. Neither Bilbo, nor Thorin needed to be made the subject of gossip in such a tightly knit group. “H-he did both.” He announced. “He fell out of bed in the night and…caught a cold.” The testimonial made Gandalf cringe and he gave him another look.

 

“Bilbo is unwell and needs his privacy.” He tried. “I am not at liberty to discuss the finer details.

 

“Code for ‘he’s sore from some nocturnal, Dwarven activities’.” Gloin muttered which was met to laughs from a few of the Dwarves around him but Gandalf thumped his fist down against the table and stood up sharply, drawing up to his full height, knocking his chair to the ground with a thump as he did so.

 

“Cease this!” He ordered again, in a deep near-roar. “There is no unsavoury relationship between Thorin and Bilbo and any further talk of it will be reported to them! I will not have that Hobbit slandered any further than he has already, now is that understood?”

 

The stunned silence that answered back to him told him it was. He grit his teeth for a moment before picking up his chair again and replacing it under the table and leaving the room swiftly.

 

“Jealously.” Gloin muttered softly, though it was mostly for his own amusement, so he wasn’t really too unhappy when no one else reacted to it.

 

This all went unheard by the pair upstairs but Thorin had his suspicions that the others were most likely speculating unfavourable regarding the situation. A few had noticed how the king’s version of events had differed to that of Gandalf’s regarding what had happened in the forest and had begun to talk among themselves. It was difficult to keep secrets within the Company.

 

Bilbo was crying again by now, not caring that he was in the presence of a king. He let the tears roll down his cheeks again, not moving his hands to wipe them away and they slid down past his ears to the corners of his jaw.

 

And Thorin couldn’t bear to watch him for too long and turned to the window, steeling his resolve. But he couldn’t stop him, either. He couldn’t command him to calm himself or even beg him to try. He knew he had to wait. And wait he did.

 

It was another quarter hour before a break in the Hobbit’s tears and he stood simply trying to catch his breath again. Thorin stepped forward again to offer his arms to the Halfling but Bilbo shied away just as he had before. But finally he began to feel the cold again and brought his arms up to cover his chest, though for no reasons of modesty. He had transcended any need for decorum at this point.

 

Thorin saw the shiver that ran through him and how it differed from the general tremble that the Hobbit had adopted since Gandalf had left him and he lowered his brow, taking the sheet from the wizard’s bed so as not to need to move too far and wrapped it around Bilbo’s shoulders as he had in the night. Bilbo stilled at the touch and made no eye contact but eventually tugged the blanket around him.

 

“Take the weight off of your feet.” Thorin mumbled and guided him with a hand to his back to sit on the bed, turning over the pillow so it wouldn’t be so damp if he lay down again. “Tell me what you need…” He murmured, sitting beside him. “I have the water if you want to splash your face or for a drink or I could get you some more breakfast, if you’d wish?”

 

And Bilbo shook his head once more and rested his head to Thorin’s side, gazing out aimlessly across the room.

 

“Do you just want to sit a while?”

 

A nod.

 

“With me here?”

 

Another nod, and Bilbo nuzzled his nose into the thick, dark pelt that hung down over Thorin’s shoulder, in an effort to dry his eyes a little.

 

“I’ll stay then.” Thorin whispered and let his mind wander absently to other matters. How was Bilbo to continue on with them in this state? He’d be a liability. He couldn’t face a dragon! But then again, how was he to explain to him that he couldn’t without going against what he’d promised him in the night?

 

It was now that he felt eyes on him and he glanced to the door to find Gandalf peering between the door and the frame.

 

“Don’t linger in the hallway. Say your piece” He muttered as quietly as he could, casting his eyes to the ground, awaiting his judgement from the wizard.

 

“Let him be.” Gandalf replied through the door. “I need to talk with you elsewhere.”

 

Thorin sighed, manoeuvring Bilbo down onto the bed, still wrapped in Gandalf’s sheets and tucked the rest of the Halfling’s blankets around his front to ensure his comfort while he continued to rest.

 

“What was so important?” He asked as he stepped out of the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

 

“We’re staying another night here.” Gandalf began. It was as good a place to start as any.

 

“The snow is too deep to continue?”

 

“Not that, so much as the general weather. It could go either way.”

 

“It would be in our best interests to stay then.” Thorin sighed. At the very least it would give him some more time with Bilbo before they had to set off again. “Is that all?”

 

“You’re not to be left alone with Bilbo any more.” Gandalf added stiffly after some time spent thinking.

 

“What do you mean?” Thorin replied sharply, narrowing his eyes. “Gandalf he asked me to stay. How am I to leave him if he asks me to sit with him while he cries?”

 

Gandalf shook his head. “I have no doubt that he thinks he can find comfort in your company but he is very vulnerable.”

 

“You doubt my intentions?”

 

“I have yet to know what they are!”

 

Thorin grit his teeth and looked to the door before turning back to Gandalf. “Master Baggins is a sweet creature. He may be the _sweetest_ creature, at least that I have met. He lets the mosquitoes bite his ankles because he doesn’t care to kill them and he feeds the wild birds he sees with the crusts on his bread even when he’s hungry, himself. If you are trying to imply that I would intend anything but protection to him you are very wide of the mark.” He muttered and shook his head. “And if I take him to my bed, know it is for his warmth and wellbeing and not my own fleshly pleasure and if I so choose to sit alone with him, it is because he asks me to and not because I have some sadistic desire to watch him cry over all the wrongs done to him, until his eyes are pink and swollen. Mahal, my intentions are nothing but honourable, I swear on the lives of my own kin.”

 

Gandalf sighed and gave a stiff nod. “Well keep them that way. And make sure that your fellow Dwarves know that that is the case as well. They’re beginning to gossip about your night spent with him.”

 

Thorin’s expression darkened again and he looked to the stairs. “Then they will learn their mistake.”

 

“Thorin-.”

 

“I will not have him made the subject of their speculations!” He interrupted.

 

“It is the course of conduct you have adopted that spiked their suspicions. While I may have little doubt that you would do him harm, for the sake of ending rumours, keep your distance from him.” Gandalf frowned. “Which I believe I asked of you not so long ago this morning.”

  
“He asked me to stay!” Thorin repeated, exasperated.

 

“And if it will raise reservations within the group you need to be strong enough to deny him.”

 

Thorin huffed and folded his arms across his chest, with a frown.

 

“Well what would you rather? Let the others know what happen to him?” Gandalf asked, head tilted.

 

“Of course I wouldn’t!”

 

“Or have them continue to talk? Have Bilbo hear their assumptions?”

 

Thorin’s frown deepened and he shook his head. “I will keep my distance.”

 

“You’ve promised me that before.”

 

Thorin sighed and bit the inside of his lower lip. “He makes it easy to break oaths.” He muttered and Gandalf scrubbed a hand over his face.

 

“Think of your duty to your people first.” And Thorin nodded acceptingly. Erebor had to come above all else, even if it meant risking Bilbo’s wellbeing for a time. “Find some explanation for your absence and inform the others. Then continue planning a route. Just because we cannot travel further does not mean this day has been wasted.” Gandalf told him.

 

Thorin paused in thought as he decided on his story for the other Dwarves before giving one final nod and departing, though Gandalf followed quickly behind him down the stairs.

 

And from inside the room, Bilbo made a small noise as he realised he was alone again when he awoke from his doze, when he was sure Thorin had been there before. He’d left, Bilbo concluded. He’d left the room and he’d left the inn and he’d left the area and he’d left him behind.

 

Because he didn’t want to be around him any longer, now that he knew.

 

Part of his conscience argued with that idea. Thorin had known in the night and he’d still wanted him to stay with the company. He’d even told him he could, despite advising that maybe he should return home. But these points were quickly suppressed in favour of his bleak conclusion.

 

He was alone now. Just as he’d been before.

 

-o-

 

“…and if you disturb him, you will live to regret it.” Thorin concluded firmly, as he stood before a table of the Dwarves, both palms pressed down against the hard wood as he leant against its edge. “You will not go to his room, you will not make noise in the corridor, and you will not joke about him, even outside of his presence.”

 

Dwalin coughed and Thorin looked to him. “Understood?” He growled and the Dwarf nodded, which was quickly followed by nods from the other Dwarves who sat around the other tables. “As Gandalf has already told you I’m sure, we’ll be spending another night here to wait for better weather. Today I want you to sharpen your weapons, stock up on supplies and make sure the maps are accurate and our route is planned properly.” He made sure that this too was understood before departing to his own small table in the corner, leaving the others to their own quiet conversation. Thorin’s explanation had only led to more speculation, if anything.

 

“I didn’t get to spend the day in bed on the anniversary of my mother’s passing.” Gloin mumbled quietly to anyone who would hear him.

 

“Maybe Bilbo’s died recently.” Kíli suggested, still eager to back up any story given regarding the Hobbit’s condition. “Or it just affects him more.”

 

“Then why didn’t Gandalf just tell us that in the first place?”  


Kíli shrugged, refastening his boots. “Maybe he didn’t want him to seem weak.” He could understand why Gandalf had lied before and he still this new consolidated lie.

 

It would take only one Dwarf to doubt Bilbo’s story about his uncle or to cast blame at his door to split the group. Kíli could see how strongly his Uncle felt towards the Hobbit’s wellbeing, though he wasn’t entirely convinced of Gandalf’s insisting that there was no fondness towards Bilbo on Thorin’s part.

 

He had seen the way the Dwarf king had watched him sleep on those nights when he was on watch. Even if he’d spent the day criticising Bilbo’s efforts and complaining about his presence on the quest, he still spent the evenings close by his side and the nights with at least one eye turned his way to make sure he slept safely. And on one such night when Kíli woke in the darkness, he was sure he could hear his Uncle speaking in hushed tones, quietening Bilbo as he twitched and mumbled aloud in his sleep, stricken by some nightmare.

 

But maybe he was wrong, and any affection he saw Thorin bestow upon the Hobbit when he thought no one else was there to witness, was all just necessary precautions. Bilbo was undoubtedly the weakest member of the group in all physical sense and in the darkness he might be easily picked off without someone there to watch over him.

 

His silent conjecture was all without purpose however, since Kíli knew that with all that had transpired, Thorin would never confess any affection beyond that as a defender, to the Dwarves or to Bilbo, whether such feeling was there or not.

 

“What were you talking to Uncle about last night?” Fíli hissed, taking a seat beside his brother, pulling Kíli from his thoughts with a sharp twitch.

 

“Oh…” He hesitated, thinking of a believable lie, something he was most often unable to achieve. “Whether he was still angry about you for attacking him.”

 

Fíli lowered his brow. “And is he?”

 

“Nope.” Kíli shrugged, chewing on the inside of his cheek and unfastening and fastening his boots for the second time.

 

“Why were you talking about that in the middle of the night?”

 

“That’s just when it came up, I suppose.”

 

“What does that really mean, Kí?” He asked, with a dubious look.

  
“We were just talking and you woke up.”

 

“Did Bilbo come to the room?”

 

Kíli sighed. He couldn’t lie to his brother – he was near incapable of lying at the best of times but now seemed so wrong with all that had happened. He twitched his head towards the back door that lead outside of the inn and Fíli understood. The elder Durin left the tavern room shortly afterwards and minutes later was joined by his brother.

 

“When I woke, they were in each others arms together in Uncle’s bed.” Kíli admitted quietly, after making sure that no one was around to hear them. Fíli made a face.

 

“But he slept with his uncle!” He hissed and then paused and gave a small squirm as he considered that. “Now he’s sleeping with _our_ uncle!”

 

“No it wasn’t…like that.” Kíli interjected, uncomfortable with the whole discussion. “I watched them for a while and then Bilbo woke up and then Uncle woke up and Bilbo got really nervous Uncle tried to apologise and told him not to be scared but he was and he moved away from him. Then Bilbo saw me and… he left.”

 

“So what part of it wasn’t as I said?”

 

“They weren’t…fornicating.”

 

Fíli huffed. “Well not in their sleep, but they might have been before!”

 

“They weren’t.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Uncle told me so. Bilbo came to him and they just shared a bed and he…didn’t really want me talking to you about it…”

 

“But you are though.” Fíli pointed out, though he was glad to be told.

 

“Well there was some other stuff too and I really can’t talk about that.”

 

“You can trust me!”

 

Kíli thought about it for maybe a minute before he sighed. “It wasn’t…done willingly, what Bilbo did with his uncle.” He mumbled. “Hobbits don’t…do that sort of thing, it was his uncle taking advantage of him when he was young… Gandalf told him and it upset him and he went to uncle Thorin for comfort but you really can’t tell anyone that. You really, really can’t.”

 

Fíli wrinkled his nose at the idea, much in the same way Kíli had when he’d heard it from Thorin.

 

“That’s disgusting.” He muttered, though he’d found the idea distasteful even before.

 

“Fíli I mean it though, don’t say anything to anyone. Don’t even tell uncle that you know.”

 

“I won’t!”

 

Kíli nodded finally and turned away from his brother. “I’m going to see what supplies I can gather from the area.” He sighed. “Just do as uncle said and sharpen your knives.” And to this Fíli nodded and made his way to the large rock that Gloin was using as a grindstone for his weaponry.

 

“I didn’t get a day in bed on the anniversary of my mother’s passing.” Gloin repeated, hoping for a better reaction from Fíli than he had his brother.

 

“Well you’re a Dwarf and he’s a Hobbit.” Fíli shrugged.

 

“And what’s that to mean?”

 

“Maybe they feel more affected by these things.” He replied with another shrug and Gloin gave a small grumble at the near identical response to that given by Kíli.

 

“Sentimental creatures then.”

 

“Seems that way.” The young prince replied, noncommittally.

 

“Do you think there’s something between your Uncle and Master Baggins?”

 

Fíli wet his dry lips. “Pray don’t gossip about him.”

 

“You’ve got to have some opinion ‘bout it.”

 

“Fine. I do think there’s something between them. About a hundred years in age, over a foot in height and currently about 14 steps on the staircase. Is that enough?” Fíli sighed, casting his eyes to the grey sky above him while Gloin harrumphed at the answer.

 

“Well I know I heard the Halfling in your room last night, even if you didn’t.”

 

Fíli tutted. “Even if he was there, that doesn’t mean anything _happened_.”

 

Gloin smirked, raising his eyebrows. “So he _was_ there.” He replied, watching Fíli blush with frustration at himself.

 

“Look you can’t tell anyone.”

 

“Is there anything to tell?”

 

Fíli sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You _really_ can’t tell anyone.” He repeated. “The other night in the forest when Kíli went off with Uncle to collect the mushrooms…”

 

-o-

 

It was evening, post-dinner before Thorin broke his promise to Gandalf and visited Bilbo again. He’d kept out of the wizard’s way for much of the day – in fact he’d kept out of everyone’s way, sitting alone in the tavern occasionally ordering food and ale for himself, but for the most part just studying the maps, sending away anyone who disturbed him. Now the other Dwarfs and the Wizard were all back at the tables again for their food and drink and he didn’t feel like sharing their company very much.

 

And as he’d told Gandalf that morning, something in Bilbo’s nature made it easy to break his oaths to others.

 

The Hobbit couldn’t be sure how many long hours he lay contemplating his future alone but as the latch clicked on his door and he watched Thorin enter and close the door softly behind him, it felt only minutes.

 

He gave a weak smile to the Dwarf and remained unmoved from his bed as Thorin sat beside him on the mattress.

 

“I can’t stay long.” Thorin was forced to admit, and Bilbo nodded silently. “But I needed to talk to you away from Gandalf. When we set off in the morning, I’ll be leaving you in the company of my nephews and they will escort you back to your home.”

 

“No!” He exclaimed, meaning to shout but it came only as a whisper. “No, I need to stay with you! You said I could!”

 

Thorin cleared his throat softly. “That was…before-”

 

“Before I knew I was defiled?”

 

“Don’t say that.” It broke his heart to hear it.

 

“Well it’s true.” Bilbo argued, still as quiet as he was when he first began arguing with Thorin.

 

Thorin shook his head. He didn’t agree with the term or its sentiment. He hated, loathed, what had been done to him but he couldn’t bring himself to claim that the Halfling had been defiled. It implied he’d been spoilt, made inferior by the acts committed against him, and nothing could be further from the truth as far as the Dwarf believed. “I-I wouldn’t have you any other way to how you are now.” He muttered, voice wavering.

 

And that enraged him, but he still could not speak above a whisper. “I hate myself Thorin. I hate my skin and all that it holds underneath it. I would have myself absolutely any other way, without even a second thought.” The tears came to his eyes again and he tried to shake them away. “Having to know and having to accept that something you forced yourself to believe was a loving act was actually some torture played out over your whole childhood… it’s like being squeezed, from within my chest.” Bilbo wheezed. “Like some great beast has got me in their grip and squeezing me slowly, but from the wrong side of my ribs. And it feels like any moment I’m going to suffocate or my heart will burst and it doesn’t come. It just tightens ever more.”

 

“Tell me what I have to do to make it right.” He begged, taking one of the Halfling’s hands in his, stroking the back of his palm with his fingers. “Tell me how to stop it feeling that way and I swear I’ll do it.”

 

“Don’t make me go home.” Came Bilbo’s response and he didn’t move his hand away. It might not stop the tightening but at the very least he would have someone with him he could talk to about it. “When I woke and you weren’t here…I thought maybe you’d begun to move towards Greenwood and I felt as though I’d lost all purpose.”

 

Thorin paused. Despite all else that played on his mind regarding their journey, he knew that leaving Bilbo behind would only weigh heavily on him and distract him from his tasks. “Are you strong enough to go on though?” He whispered, squeezing his hand lightly.

 

“Was I to begin with?”

 

Thorin gave another weak smile at that and took the still dry flannel from his bedside and dampened it, wiping gently at Bilbo’s cheeks with the cool water. “If it becomes too much I will leave you with my sister-sons at the nearest safe settlement and they will escort you back to Rivendell at least, if you do not want to go home.”

 

“It won’t be necessary.” Bilbo mumbled and felt his face warm as Thorin washed it for him, the only sign of his blush given his now pink complexion from his emotions throughout the day. He bit his lower lip, looking down at his still bare chest before back to the Dwarf’s face. “Stay with me again tonight.”

 

“Gandalf does not want me alone with you.” He sighed. “The others are…beginning to talk.”

 

“It made me feel safe when you were there.”

 

“You fell asleep because you were still exhausted, not because I was there!”

 

“I meant when I woke up actually.” Bilbo admitted. That time between sleep and the embarrassment of Thorin finding him snuggling up close to him, had been one of the more pleasant that he could remember, at least when it came to laying in the company of another. Even if it meant another day of regret…what real harm could it do to feel warmth against his back while he slept again? “I wouldn’t cuddle up this time.”

 

Thorin honestly wouldn’t have minded if he did. Knowing the Hobbit felt comfortable enough to press close against him in the night, warmed his heart as very little else did. “Gandalf won’t like it.” He mumbled again, but the Hobbit scowled.

 

“He had his chance to try and protect me.” He muttered, though deep down he didn’t really blame Gandalf for what had happened. If he blamed him, he’d have to blame his parents too and he couldn’t do that. None of them knew.

 

Thorin pursed his lips and sighed. There wasn’t anything he could really say to that, so he just waited for Bilbo to speak again.

 

“Please stay.”

 

The dwarf hunched his shoulders but nodded, begrudgingly. “When Gandalf comes to bed I’ll have to leave though.” He mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

Bilbo grinned illicitly into the pillow, pleased with his small victory, kicking off the sheets from his legs as he made room on the bed for Thorin, who gave him a sideways glance.

 

“I’m not laying with you Bilbo.” He murmured. “I’ll just sit with you until you sleep or until Gandalf returns.” And the Halfling frowned.

 

“You can.”

 

“I don’t want to.”

 

Bilbo frowned, moving the blankets back over his legs. “Well how will you sleep?”

 

“Well as I said, I’m not sleeping, I’m waiting for Gandalf to return.” Thorin sighed. “You’re…welcome to sleep though.” It would be like any other night then, Thorin thought to himself. Bilbo sleeping beside him while he remained awake, keeping watch over him.

 

“Last night…”

 

“Last night was different.”

 

Bilbo pursed his lips inwardly. “It’s no different from tonight.” He mumbled and Thorin was forced to admit it wasn’t. Bilbo asked him to stay and he felt he needed comfort. “I would tell Gandalf that you didn’t want to stay but I made you.”

 

“He wouldn’t accept that.” Thorin sighed, but he looked to Bilbo’s disappointed face. “I will sit with you but I will not lie with you.”

 

He shrugged off the fur pelt from around his shoulders and slowly stripped off the layers underneath until all he wore on his top half was his dark navy tunic shirt. He removed his boots and socks from his feet and the belt and various weaponry holsters were left on the floor along with the various jackets and armour. After extinguishing the lamp by his door and closing the curtain across the window to the room, Thorin stumbled in the darkness back to the bed, gasping angrily as the soft sole of his foot found part of his belt. Having located it again, he sat up beside Bilbo on the bed, with his back against the headboard.

 

True to his word, Bilbo did not cuddle up to him. He watched his shape in the darkness for a while, biting his lip and grinning still that he’d convinced him to stay.

 

And there in the dark in the cold bed with only the body heat from the Dwarf to warm him, Bilbo realised his real fondness for Thorin Oakensheild, son of Thrain, son of Thror, true ruler of Erebor, King under the Mountain. But he pushed it aside. Those feelings would have to wait a while.

 

“Sleep well.” Came the low voice of the Dwarf from beside him and he hid his face in the pillow, saying nothing again. “I’ll wake you in the morning, long before we leave. We’ll eat a good breakfast and then set off for the Greenw-“ He paused, mid-word, brow furrowed.

 

“What is it?” Bilbo whispered, eyes wide and heard the mumbling on the stairs. There could be no mistaking the voice. Gandalf on the landing. He swallowed thickly. “Please don’t go yet. You’ve only just got here.” He hissed, clutching at the side of Thorin’s shirt. “Please. _Please, Thorin._ Don’t leave me.”

 

He knew he’d regret it in the morning. That he’d hate himself and feel all wrong and dirty all over again but for now all he wants is to be close against him.

 

Thorin tensed and sighed, making his choice to stay, before he awkwardly tugged the blanket out from underneath him and Bilbo, praying that Gandalf would stay talking in the corridor for a while longer. He tossed the sheet back to the wizard’s bed, and lay down underneath Bilbo’s blanket, whispering his apologies wrapping himself close against the Hobbit’s side, despite the small gasps and occasional giggles. Apologising quietly, for one last time he buried his head under the blanket too, pressing his cheek to Bilbo’s chest, beard rubbing to his abdomen.

 

And Bilbo bit his lip again, whole body warm with anticipation and excitement. Because it _was_ exciting. It was thrilling, hiding someone in his bed. Feeling the hot breath from Thorin’s lips against his chest. It was so very different from _anything_ he’s experienced. Even having set aside his feelings for Thorin, he couldn’t help but feel that relief, not so different to that of the cold from where he’d leaned against the window.

 

It even relieved some of the tightness in his chest. Not a great deal, but a little. Enough for him to enjoy himself, if only briefly.

 

Thorin hushed him and Bilbo felt the air from his hush in the light scattering of pale auburn curls on his chest and the hair on his upper lip brushes his skin and made him shudder softly in Thorin’s arms.

 

The door opened briefly again and the shaft of light briefly passed across Bilbo’s face before it was closed, after Gandalf stepped inside his room, thankfully not looking to his bed, lest he saw the much bigger shape under his blankets.

 

“Are you still awake?” Gandalf murmured as he removed his hat and cloak again in the darkness, wishing he’d looked in on Bilbo again during the day.

 

Thorin squeezed his hand under the sheets and Bilbo squeezed back. Though he could hear the sadness in Gandalf’s voice he couldn’t help his grin. “Yes.” He mumbled hoarsely.

 

“Can’t sleep?” The wizard asked, feeling for his own bed and by another stroke of luck, missing Thorin’s pile of belongings on the ground between the two beds.

 

Bilbo bit his lip. “You woke me.” He lied.

 

“Oh. My apologies.” Came the reply and Bilbo felt a pang of regret for saying it. “I didn’t mean to.”

 

“I-I know.” He mumbled. “I don’t blame you.” Bilbo paused. “For anything.” He squeezed Thorin’s hand under the sheet and could swear he felt the curve of the Dwarf’s smile against his skin.

 

Gandalf swallowed. “That means a great deal to me to hear.” He smiled to himself. It didn’t stop him blaming himself, but it was very nice of Bilbo to say. “How are you feeling now?”

 

“It hurts.” Bilbo said honestly and felt Thorin shift against him. “It hurts and I don’t feel like it’s going to stop hurting any time soon.” Another shift and Thorin threaded his fingers between Bilbo’s. “But I want to stay with the company.”

 

“You’re sure?”

 

“I’m very sure Gandalf. I’m completely sure.” His voice was sincere and he barely paused between the words. “I want to stay. I need to stay. Even if I’m never to overcome this…I need to be a part of something, I need to feel useful. If I leave I’ll just sit and rot alone in an armchair at home.” He sighed and clutched a handful of Thorin’s tunic with his free hand.

 

Gandalf’s nod went unseen in the darkness and he lay back against his pillow. “I will make sure Thorin knows how you feel.” He murmured and that brought another smile to the Hobbit’s lips and another squeeze to his palm. “And Bilbo,” he added quietly, the wizard’s voice making him jump. “I am…so dreadfully sorry that I didn’t know to stop it;

 

Bilbo was quiet. “You weren't there at the time, Gandalf. Even if you were you couldn’t have stopped it.”

 

“Even so-”

 

“I forgive you for being unable to help.”

 

And Gandalf was silent again until he murmured. “Sleep well.”

 

“Good night.” And Bilbo dropped Thorin’s hand to wrap his arms tight around his shoulders as best he could, forgetting that he told him he wouldn’t cuddle. He needed to. Thorin would forgive him.

 

After they could hear Gandalf snore lightly in his bed, Thorin dared to move his head above the blankets and Bilbo grinned broadly as he was pulled to his chest again. Damn whatever the morning would tell him, who knew when, if ever he would get the chance to lay in a real bed with Thorin pressed so tight against him.

 

And without prompt or encouragement, acting purely on intemperance, he craned his neck up lightly and touched a small chaste kiss to the corner of Thorin’s mouth and pulled back again turning over to face the wall.

 

And Thorin blinked and rolled over as well to face in between the beds and stared out into the darkness, amazed at how his heart quickened at such a tiny act. He thought over how he’d pushed himself so close to the Halfling’s bare chest and to his shame, he felt the first pangs of arousal that he allowed himself to feel in a great long while. He thought of his smell, like that of his pipe smoke and of his home now mixed with the scent of his perspiration and the dirt from where he’d slept on the ground and the dust and rain and all the other smells of the wilderness that all clung to him. He thought of his skin, soft and pale and free of scars at least that Thorin had seen. Bilbo was thinner now than when he’d started the journey but the delightful curve of his stomach was still to be seen in part, when he removed his clothes to bathe in the streams or now when he slept. And finally he thought of that small voice that had pleaded with him to stay at his side, when all reason and conscience told him to go.

 

And it should not have made his trousers feel far too tight but it did.

 

Thorin bit down hard on his lower lip and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting until he could safely assume Bilbo was asleep before he unfastened the button at the top of his trousers and even that felt like relief to him.

 

But it wasn’t relief enough and he tried to forget about his surroundings, tried to forget that he currently shared a bed with the sweetest most innocent being he had ever known, who had suffered so greatly and had spent the day alone with his sorrows and only now had the confidence to have arms around him again. He forgot all of how Bilbo had looked that morning, the angst on his face and the way he pushed himself against the wall, desperate for distance between himself and Thorin.

 

He put all that from his mind and pressed his hand inside his trousers and between his legs, stroking himself silently, the only clue to his conduct being the change in his breath and the small movement of his wrist, but there was no one awake to notice this.

 

Thorin didn’t even think of Bilbo as he did it, at least not for long. The brief thought of him only triggered only the memory of how the hobbit had looked that morning when he’d awoken and regretted the night coupled the sight of him standing pressed to the cold glass, with his eyes sore and red.

 

He didn’t pretend it was Bilbo or even anyone else touching him. Though Thorin felt guilt for the action, it wasn’t an exercise in self-pleasure. Just stress relief. It wouldn’t do for Bilbo to wake up with Thorin’s hardness pressing against him and it was this justification that finally led him to climax with a low grunt, ashamedly soiling his palm.

 

And it was like this that he finally fell asleep, back pressed to Bilbo’s and hand still nestled in the warmth of his own thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half-of-a-halfling.tumblr.com


	5. Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hover mouse over Khuzdul for translations, which are also provided at the end of the text.
> 
> Edit: HTML is messing me around so the hover translations aren't working for the majority of the words. This will be corrected, sorry.
> 
> Edit 2: Fixed, along with the random bold.

Thorin felt the lips against his own and he knew all was good. Blinking awake he turned his head away, bashfully as soon as their eyes met. He hadn’t felt this bashful since those days in Erebor, when he was still a prince. But now he had reason to be coy. He was sharing his bed with him again.

 

“We shouldn’t…” He whispered but as he looked down to his bed-mate’s hands, tugging his tunic roughly from his trousers, his voice faltered and no further objections passed his lips.

 

How he growled at his ear; it sent Thorin’s heart a-flutter like nothing else did. The grin spread across Thorin’s cheeks and he laughed softly at the names murmured to his ear in that rough, hushed voice.

 

“ _Alanjuzûnuh…_ _Mabarûnuh…_ **** _Hubmûnuh…_ ****”

 

And Thorin blushed scarlet as the sobriquets became cruder as he went on and he slapped his arm lightly, which gave his partner cause to stop in his tracks for a moment, looking down at his face a little longer. And Thorin returned the stare, gazing straight up into his dark brown eyes. He could never get enough of the sight of them.

 

“Shomakhûnuh."Thorin murmured finally in response to the names and bit his lower lip. He really did feel like a young prince again with the elder dwarf above him. Free of troubles and responsibilities any further than attending his people’s festivities and keeping up with his studies. Free just to lay here with another. 

 

He was glad he’d found him again that night. He wasn’t sure how he had, but it wasn’t a time for questions, a fact made evident from his partner’s still wandering hands. He watched as the other sat back on his haunches, straddling Thorin’s legs as he pushed his fingers between the Dwarf king’s legs to rub him gently through the fabric. He could feel each finger through the cloth as the other fondled him lightly.

 

 _‘He must have travelled a long way to find me here at this inn’,_ was Thorin’s last lucid thought before his mind became a tangle of remembering to breathe and trying to see what his partner was doing to him. One hand wrapped around Thorin’s shaft and the other stroking the side of his thigh, with thick fingertips, calloused from where he’d held his axes and swords and lances.

 

And with that, came even another mumbled name of "Muzmithuh…” And Thorin pouted at that, though once more he found himself having to remember to take breaths and he soon forgave this new title. Ginnar had many epithets that he’d call him by when he lay with him. Some were vulgar and coarse and said only to make the Dwarf prince laugh softly as he had before.

 

Ginnar had always loved to hear the otherwise cold and sincere prince laugh. He never said it outright, but Thorin could see it in his eyes. And he always laughed at the names given to him.

 

In the past, as the nights would progress, the names murmured against his skin would become more endearing, more…romantic. The times when Dwarves were poetic were few and far between but Ginnar knew how to charm him. The names wereKidhuzeluh,Khajimeluh, Mizimeluh, and others all muttered hoarsely between the thrusts and sucks and strokes and groans, as Thorin gasped for more. He’d never pleaded to anyone else in his life but he would always beg him.

 

“Mahal kahomhîlizu…oh kahomhîlizu…” He whispered, as the other Dwarf leaned down against him suckling softly at the small spot at the corner of his jaw where his beard didn’t grow, thanks to a burn from a spark while crafting in his adolescence. It was a spot he usually made sure was covered by his hair or the rest of his beard so it couldn’t be seen but when he was alone with his lover, he didn’t try so hard to hide it.

 

The feel of his lips against that shiny scar on his jaw, coupled with the hand at his groin made him shudder violently with a low groan, clutching at Ginnar’s shoulder trying to keep him close.

 

“Kahomhîlizu…" He repeated, louder this time, hands shaking as his partner’s strokes of his member increased in speed.

 

Thorin wished he hadn’t touched himself before sleep. If he’d known Ginnar would be there with him that night then he’d have forgone the act. He could have waited. He should’ve. Now it was so difficult to climax at the other Dwarf’s hand and every stroke left him exhausted.

 

And though his begs went unanswered by the other Dwarf, after a time his pleas for more became a babble as Ginnar’s mouth slipped from his beard, licking and suckling a path down through the near-pelt of hair that grew on his chest, over the scars on his stomach, tongue dipping only briefly into his navel and eventually those dark lips passed over the head of his length.

 

Thorin’s hips bucked upwards sharply and he let out a long, drawn out cry as his member was engulfed in that unending heat of Ginnar’s mouth and he began to thrash in the bed, only to have one leg held down by his partner’s strong hand.

 

Oh how much stronger he was than Thorin. How he could always push him up to the wall and hold him there. How he could wrestle him to the hard ground even when taken by surprise. How he could pin him to the bed with just his thighs. And how Thorin loved every second of their faux-sparring.

 

The beat of his racing heart would thud in his ears and the adrenaline would flood through his system and Thorin was erect by the end of their fights more often than not. And like he had tonight, Ginnar would palm him through his trousers, as he held him still as best he could with his legs and free hand. Thorin would shudder and rock against the other’s hand until he found release, sometimes dirtying his trousers, sometimes painting his lover’s hand with the white fluid when Ginnar let him finish outside of the confines of his clothes.

 

“Birashagimi…” Thorin mumbled as Ginnar pulled his mouth away from his cock on this night. He knew the dwarf didn’t enjoy it when he thrust his hips up and often Ginnar would end their sessions together when he did. The elder Dwarf wasn’t particularly skilful in these acts, but the feel of his tongue pressed along his member and the warmth of his lips wrapped around him was often more than enough for Thorin.

 

Ginnar simply shook his head to the apology and gave a broad smile instead. “Bavonithuh.” He whispered wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking back down to Thorin’s erection, head flush dark red, leaking pre-seed from the tip.

 

“Men lananubu-” Thorin started, only to find himself cut off as Ginnar shook his head, pressing those rough fingertips to Thorin’s lips, much to the Dwarf King’s surprise. “Ma shândi…” He sighed and furrowed his brow, but Ginnar only shook his head again.

 

“Nay.”

 

“It’s true!” He insisted quietly. “Men la-”

 

Ginnar gave him a fierce look that stopped Thorin again, mid-word. “Nay.”

 

“But I never got to tell-”

 

“I knew.”

 

“But I didn’t say.” He insisted, squeezing his shoulder.

 

“I knew.” Ginnar repeated, just as adamantly.

 

Thorin’s hardness began to ebb and Ginnar moved back up his body to kiss his lips and Thorin hummed against his mouth, feeling the prickling of the shorter hairs on Ginnar’s beard against his own. It was just like the first kiss he’d shared with him all those years ago. Long and passionate, but unsullied by tongue. Just his mouth touching Thorin’s and Thorin’s touching his.

 

But the kiss ended as all do and Ginnar sat back again on his haunches but with a queer look in his eye.

 

“Thorin.” The older Dwarf murmured.

 

“What is it?” Thorin asked and began to sit up.

 

“Thorin?” He repeated, slightly louder this time.

 

“I’m here, what is it?”

 

**_“Thorin!?”_ **

 

And it was the pain of the hard cedar staff against his back and then his ribs which woke Thorin, as he was knocked from the bed to the floor and blows continued to rain down on him from above, and he found he could not defend against them.

 

** Translations: (Where necessary, literal translations are in brackets beside) **

_Alanjuzûnuh_ – My Man of the Evening (My Evening-man)

 _Mabarûnuh_ – My Man of the Bed (My Bed-man)

 _Hubmûnuh_ – My Man of the Arse (My Bottom-man)

 _Shomakhûnuh_ – My Guard (My Guard-man)

 _Muzmithuh_ – My Beastling (My young beast)

 _Kidhuzeluh_ – My Gold of all Gold

 _Khajimeluh_ – My Gift of all Gifts

 _Mizimeluh_ – My Jewel of all Jewels

 _Kahomhîlizu_ – Please (Can you do)

 _Birashagimi_ – I’m sorry (I regret)

 _Bavonithuh_ – My Crownling (My young crown)

 _Men lananubu-_ – I lov-

 _Ma shândi_ – I don’t understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half-of-a-halfling.tumblr.com


	6. Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be edited for clarity and typos only visible after posting.

It was the pain of the hard cedar staff against his back and then his ribs which woke Thorin, as he was knocked from the bed to the floor and blows continued to rain down on him from above, and he found he could not defend against them.

 

He cried out finally, once he’d found his voice and held his hands up to protect his head as best he could, but the tip of Gandalf’s walking cane came down on his ribs again, forcing him to roll onto his side, gasping for air, trying to understand what was going on. Blood flowed from his nose and lip from where the staff had hit him in the face.

 

 ** _“Thorin Oakenshield!”_** The wizard roared again though it went almost unheard over Bilbo’s screams beside him. Daring to raise his head a little, Thorin made a grab at one of Gandalf’s legs, trying to bring him down to the ground with him, but another smack to his arm that nearly snapped the wood of the rod caused him to curl back up to his stomach, tucking his limbs in close to his body.

 

Bilbo grabbed at Gandalf’s arm frantically, with both hands but a great shrug and flail from the wizard sent him to the ground too.

 

 ** _“Stop it!”_** The Hobbit cried again, trembling all over he wrapped himself close to the Dwarf. **_“Stop it Gandalf don’t hurt him, please! Stop it!”_** He gasped out, his hand finding Thorin’s in the tangle.

 

And other than the heavy breaths of all three parties and the soft sobs from Bilbo, the sound of the staff clattering to the ground was the only noise in the room. Gandalf flexed his fingers, hands shaking from anger and adrenaline and took a seat at his bed again. “Bilbo, wait for me outside.” He told him, no less a request than an order.

 

“No.” Bilbo replied quietly, not leaving where he lay beside Thorin on the floor. He touched the side of the Dwarf’s bruised face but his fingers flinching away as Thorin winced at the touch.

 

The Dwarf’s eyes opened slowly to meet Bilbo’s and he knew why he’d been woken in such a way. He looked down at himself and groaned softly. His trousers still open, fallen partway down his legs at the front, revealing his dwarfhood. Bilbo followed his gaze down and dropped his hand, eyes wide as he blushed and shifted away.

 

“I wasn’t…” Thorin whispered, though he knew explanation was fruitless. Anyway he tried to justify what had happened still ended with him sharing a bed with Bilbo, with his trousers down and dried seed on his hand.

 

“Bilbo, go and wait outside.” The command came again and Bilbo nodded this time, rising shakily to his feet to leave the room, to be met by the crowds of Dwarves and other inn guests.

 

Thorin lay still on the floor, swallowing thickly as he looked to the staff and then to Gandalf.

 

“You swore on the lives of your kin.”

 

The Dwarf nodded, unmoved.

 

“You swore to me that you would leave him alone. That you could gather the strength to deny him private company.”

 

Thorin wet his lips and nodded, giving a low noise of affirmation.

 

“And that your intentions towards him were honourable.”

 

To that, his eyes flicked up. “They were and they still are.”

 

Gandalf sighed deeply, bringing a hand down over his eyes again. “Well forgive me for not believing you.”

 

Thorin tensed his jaw and retook the foetal position that he had previously adopted and thought over his words before he spoke again. “I came to him to make sure he was okay in the evening. We discussed his future with The Company and he told me of his desire to stay with us. When I went to leave, he begged me to stay, he truly begged.” The Dwarf king told him. “So I said I would stay until you returned and that came so soon…and again he begged for me to stay.”

 

“And I’m sure it made you feel so powerful to hear him beg you.” Gandalf muttered. “’The sweetest creature’ pleading for your company.”

 

Thorin swallowed thickly and ignored his comments. “I hid in the darkness, under his blankets while you came in and took yourself off to bed. And then for a while we just held each other…” He admitted quietly. “And when he fell asleep, he rolled over and I did the same.” He closed his eyes at the memory. “But the press of another against me…it proved too much and I had to satisfy my needs. I know it was shameful and I know it was wrong of me to do but I…I felt I had no other option open to me.”

 

Gandalf huffed. “You could have left.”

 

“I-I could have.” Thorin admitted, tensing again. “I didn’t want to wake him.” He added, though the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind in the night.

 

“Did you think of him?”

 

“How can you even ask me that?”

 

“Quite easily.” Gandalf replied.

 

“Well I didn’t.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I didn’t think of anything. I tried to forget he was even beside me.”

 

Gandalf gave a dubious look to him and met Thorin’s eye as he finally raised his head again from the ground, shifting until he sat on the ground, his bruised back against one leg of the bed as he tucked his anatomy back into his trousers and refastened them. “It would have been the same if I were with Bilbo, or a lover or even my sister.”

 

The wizard huffed. “Do you really think that’s an appropriate comment to make?”

 

“No.” Thorin muttered, acceptingly. “But it’s true. It had nothing to do with sharing a bed with _him_. It was just…weakness, I swear.”

 

“Your oaths mean very little to me. You’ve shown yourself to be a danger to him.”

 

“I would never touch him Gandalf, please believe me.”

 

“Even if he _begged_ you?”

 

“I could deny him that.” Thorin whispered, but he hung his head, focussing on his pile of clothes beneath him, knowing it was a lie. He wouldn’t be able to refuse him, even after all he knew of Bilbo’s past. He only wanted him happy.

 

He hated to hear Bilbo beg. From the moment when they first set out from The Shire and the Halfling had pleaded that they stopped for rest and food. How it had affected Thorin to listen as his whines and loud complaints became quiet begs as it dawned on Bilbo that no one was listening to him.

 

Thorin had wanted to stop the journey. He wanted to see Bilbo rest and feed and be sated. But he knew they had to continue for another fourteen hours to cover enough ground. Because he could not give him as he wanted, he chose to silence him and turned on his pony and shouted and insulted him until the Hobbit was mute.

 

It was only in a small cave, late in the night when he could finally see Bilbo rest. He took the first watch for the night and sat beside his exhausted form as he slept. It was some hours into the night when Thorin finally dared to reach out and touch his shoulder watching as the sleeping Hobbit hummed softly and leaned up into the touch.

 

As the days passed on their journey, it became almost a ritual for Thorin. To take the night watch, maybe for the first few hours but sometimes for the whole night and to sit beside Bilbo and surreptitiously touch at his arm or, if he dared, his cheek or hair. He would run the tips of his fingers through those auburn ringlets and watch in the dim glow of the near-burned out fire, as Bilbo would twitch in his sleep and sometimes curve his lips into a smile.

 

And when he frowned and curled up tight with fear or cried softly, the Dwarf would lay down beside him and hush him until he stilled and his expression softly.

 

Bilbo had only woken once when he’d done this. Their eyes had met in that haze of orange shadows that illuminated them as Thorin touched lightly at the slightly pointed tip of his ears. The small fire crackled near to him and he’d continued the slow touch down the curve of his little ear to his jaw and then his bare chin before Thorin put his hand back to his own knee again.

 

And Bilbo had smiled fondly and blushed a little and then fell asleep again. It wasn’t discussed in the morning and hadn’t been since.

 

It now seemed so perverse to Thorin, in light of recent revelations, to do things in this way. To refuse to give him as he asked, to beat him down until he asked for little to nothing and then to wait until he slept and could not complain, to touch him gently, as he did. He received no satisfaction from it in any sexual sense, but that didn’t mean it was not perverse. Going without sleep for nights on end just for a chance to feel his smooth, unscarred skin under his fingertips or his clean, untangled curls. 

 

He could pretend that it was to make sure he was safe and alive, and a part of that was true. He could verify that Bilbo was okay by making him twitch and move when he slept, but that wasn’t really why he did it.

 

He did it because he was perfect. And it was the only time he got to be that close to him.

 

And he adored being close to him.

 

“I will stay away.” Thorin murmured after a time, as Gandalf rose to his feet to leave the room.

 

“Do you mean that this time?”

 

“Do you really believe he’ll want to be around me after this morning?”

 

Gandalf sighed softly and had to agree. As angry and distrustful as he was, there was little he could hope for beyond that. Bilbo didn’t want to leave the group and Thorin, as their leader, could not be exiled. “Did I hurt you?” He asked as he reached the door.

 

“Yes.” Thorin admitted, with another wince wiping the blood from his nose.

 

“Good. Look at your bruises and maybe you’ll remember your oaths.”

 

-o-

 

_“…and Celebrían was captured and she was defiled by her captors...”_

_“Defiled?” Bilbo piped up, inquisitively. “What does it mean?”_

_Fortinbras looked over the top of the heavy volume in his hands to his young cousin, who sat on the floor before him, and his cheeks reddened._

_“What does it mean?” He repeated._

_The older Hobbit, cleared his throat and hesitated. “It means… she was spoiled.”_

_“How was she spoiled? How did the Orcs spoil her? She was an Elf, she was perfect.”_

_The older Hobbit chewed on the inside of his cheek, realising this really wasn’t the best choice of story for a young child. “They just did.” He mumbled, brushing off the question with a shrug._

_“Yes but how?” Bilbo asked again, folding his arms across his chest._

_Fortinbras cast his eyes to the ceiling and sighed a deep sigh. “They…lay with her. Forcefully.”_

_Bilbo made a face. “With an orc?” He murmured, covering his mouth with his hands. “That’s disgusting.”_

_  
“That was the idea.” Fortinbras nodded with another sigh._

_“And that spoiled her?”_

_Fortinbras gave a slow nod and tried to continue reading, only to be interrupted again._

_“Because they were orcs? Or because it was forceful?”_

_He hunched his shoulders. “A bit of both.”_

_“Which bits?”_

_Fortinbras pinched the bridge of his nose and marked the page as the closed the book. “The orcs wanted to hurt her in such a way that even if she did escape, she’d always remember how they hurt her. They could beat her but the bruises would heal and she would forget in time. But if they lay with her it would be something much more difficult for her to forget and recover from...”_

_“Because it was disgusting?”_

_“Well it was a bit more than that.” Fortinbras continued. “Celebrían had only previously lain with Elrond, the man she loved, to demonstrate and celebrate their love for one another. The fact that they used what she knew only as a loving act as pain against her… well, were she to escape, it would sully the act for her, even if it was loving. It would make her maybe reconsider whether it was done for love or maybe it was just a dirty physical act to hurt her.”_

_Bilbo nodded, knowingly, though some parts of the explanation were still beyond his understanding. “And the other bit?”_

_“Sorry?”_

_“You said a bit of both. The bit about the forcefulness I get but what about the orcs bit?”_

_Fortinbras frowned for a moment before he understood. “Well… orcs are known for such cruel torture. Others knew that she had been captured by orcs so if she was rescued or escaped, they could infer what had happened to her. That she had been violated and used in this way. There would be no way for her to keep it secret. Her subjects and family and husband would know and they might think differently of her.”_

_Bilbo chewed the inside of his cheek. “And did they think differently of her?”_

_“It doesn’t say in the book, they don’t really talk about things like that in tales. She was rescued but she found no joy in life and so she faded and went to the Grey Havens.”_

_“Because of the defiling?”_

_“Well also the torture and poisoning…” Fortinbras sighed, setting the book down beside him. “I think that’s enough tales for now. Why don’t we go and sit outside before your mother picks you up?”_

_Bilbo nodded and pushed himself up to his feet, taking his older cousin’s hand as he was lead out into the garden. Fortinbras took to wandering among the flowers, smelling them occasionally. Bilbo sat in the tall grass that reached almost over his head, letting a ladybird crawl from one of the long green blades onto the back of his hand._

_Watching the insect intently, Bilbo furrowed his brow thinking over what had been said by his cousin. How it stirred something in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t settle. Maybe he should talk to Fortinbras about what their uncle sometimes said or did to him. What he’d been told and how it seemed to go against what his cousin had told him about Celebrían’s capture._

_He lifted his arm up as high as he could and waited until the ladybird climbed to the tip of his finger and took flight off into another part of the garden. Bilbo sat a while longer, no longer in the company of the bug. And his chest felt a bit tight. And he decided to say nothing._

-o-

 

Bilbo felt cold downstairs. He’d run from the crowds who’d questioned and accused him down, to a spot in the corner of the kitchen of the inn where he was yet to be found. Tucked away between two meat safes, he sat still, arms wrapped around himself.

 

It was because you kissed him, he told himself. Because you were silly and you thought that you could kiss him, you gave him the wrong idea. _You can’t just kiss someone_ , his mind raged to him and he wrapped his hands in his hair and tugged, trying to silence that part or make sure the message got through to the rest of it or _something_. With a low whine of anguish and frustration, he curled up onto his side and hid his face in his hands.

 

Guilt flooded in by the bucket load. Gandalf was angry with Thorin and he’d hurt him so Thorin would be angry with him and the other Dwarves thought very little of him as it were and they’d find out that Bilbo had kissed their king. _Forced him to his bed and tried to kiss him._ Maybe Thorin would tell them about what he knew from before. Then they’d all know. How was he supposed to go on with them if they all knew? They’d never accept him.

 

The tightness in his chest reached its peak. Too tight to cry out. Too tight to breathe.

 

-o-

 

“Uncle?”

 

Thorin looked up to the doorway and sighed, looking back to the floor instead. “What do you want?”

 

“The others are asking when we’re going to move on.” Kíli murmured, leaning against the doorframe. He knew better by now than to ask too many questions of his uncle at this exact moment in time. Thorin frowned and coughed, feeling the pain in his ribs again. Giving a low groan, he waved a hand to his nephew for him to leave.

 

“Tell them to gather their things. I will meet you at the entrance once I am dressed.” He muttered.

 

Kíli nodded but didn’t move. “Do you need any help?” He asked quietly and Thorin wrinkled his nose.

 

“I’m not a child.”

 

“Yeah but…” Kíli started. “You’re not in a great way.”

 

“Tell the others. I will meet you once I am dressed.” He repeated and Kíli was forced to accept that. As he turned to leave, Thorin spoke up again. “Don’t let them hassle Bilbo.” He added.

 

“Right.” He mumbled. “Right, I won’t.”

 

He sighed, tugging himself up to sit on Bilbo’s bed. “Leave me.”

 

Kíli nodded and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him and once Thorin was sure he wasn’t coming back, Thorin tugged at the bottom of his shirt, tugging it slowly over his head with a shuddering groan as his ribs and shoulders ached. He inspected the dark purple and black bruises that were beginning to blossom on his chest and arms and winced, rubbing the back of his hand over his nose to find it was still bleeding. It was nothing that he wasn’t hardy enough to overcome but it still felt tender all over.

 

With a deep, wheezing breath he rose to his feet and began to dress again, tugging on belts and jackets and sheaths and all his accoutrements and then took Bilbo’s shirt and jacket from the floor to bring down to him- no, to bring to Gandalf to give to him.

 

He took each step downstairs in his stride, ignoring the questions from the few members of his Company that still remained on the landing and folded the shirt into a square, passing it and the jacket down to the wizard who waited in the foyer of the inn, no doubt settling what they owed and ensuring their stay would not be reported to other interested parties.

 

Gandalf took the shirt and nodded silently, watching as he descended the last few steps at a slow speed and took another wheezing breath. It was the only time when he felt guilt for his actions, but this thought was quickly dismissed as he remembered why he had beaten him.

 

“Is he okay?” Thorin asked and Gandalf pursed his lips inwardly.

 

“He’s hidden himself away somewhere. I’ve sent some of the Dwarves out to find him.” He explained.

 

“He’s not out in the snow, is he?”

 

“We found none of his footprints outside the entrances. I have to assume he’s still inside.”

 

Thorin nodded. That was of some relief, but still. “Should I look too?” He asked quietly, furrowing his brow.

 

“Who do you think he’s hiding from? Stay here as you told your sister-son you would.”

 

Thorin felt an ache in his chest, but it was unlike that from the bruises. It was knowing Gandalf was right about Bilbo. He was undoubtedly hiding away to avoid Thorin.

 

All he wanted was to hold him again. To have woken up earlier than the others and realise how compromising the situation appeared and silently curse himself before refastening his trousers. Better yet, to have gone without the touch of his own hand. He could have waited. He should’ve.

 

Then maybe he could have held him a bit longer. Let Bilbo cling against him as he had the morning earlier and squeeze him close against him. A morning better than their first, it was all he had wanted. Maybe they could have talked a while. Made sure Bilbo knew what he thought of their time together. How pleased he was with Bilbo’s actions during their journey. How proud he was of how strongly the Hobbit wanted to continue with them. How sweet he found that little kiss pressed to the crease at the corner of his mouth before sleep.

 

But he’d lost his chance to say all of that. He always left these things too late to say.

 

“We’ve got him.”

 

Thorin jerked his head up and looked as Bilbo was carried into the entrance by Dwalin and lain down on the floor again. The Hobbit lay prostrate, trembling all over as he gasped for little breaths wherever he could find them.

 

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with him?” Thorin asked rushing to his side, only to be knocked back again by Gandalf.

 

“He’s panicking.” Bofur mumbled, as Bilbo rolled onto his side and brought his hands to wring at his chest. The Dwarf dropped down to kneel at his side, shaking his shoulder lightly. “Just let it pass…” He murmured. “Deep breath in, then wait, then deep breath out…”

 

“He was in the kitchens hiding between the cupboards.” Dwalin muttered to Thorin, watching as Gandalf moved down beside Bilbo as well only to be waved away by Bofur. “Think it might be time for some explaining yet?” He asked the Dwarf king, raising an eyebrow.

 

Thorin swallowed thickly, standing silently until Bilbo began to calm under Bofur’s reassurance of his safety and his breathing became less erratic. It was when the Hobbit looked to his face that he turned away and left the inn, standing out, away from the building, in the snow instead.

 

Dwalin followed after him, grabbing his shoulder which made Thorin hiss at the pain and shift out of his grip.

 

“There’s a lot of rumours flying around here, I need to know which I should be correcting.” Dwalin told him. “Are you courting Bilbo or aren’t you?”

 

Thorin wrapped his arms around himself and shook his head. “It’s very complicated as it stands. It wouldn’t be fair on him for me to say.”

 

Dwalin sighed and narrowed his eyes. “Well maybe you ought to think what would be fair for the rest of us.” He muttered. “Because there’s Gandalf telling us he’s sick, you telling us he’s grieving, one half of the rest of us telling the other half that he’s sleeping with you and the other half saying someone’s violated him!”

 

Thorin’s expression darkened. “Who’s been telling you that he was violated?”

 

Dwalin scrubbed a hand down over his face. “Nori heard it from Oin who heard it from his brother who heard it from one of your nephews. That’s how it was told to me anyway.”

 

Thorin clenched his fists. “And that rumour stopped with you I hope.”

 

“I didn’t tell anyone who hadn’t already heard it.”

 

His mouth dry, Thorin shook his head angrily.

 

“So it is true then?” Dwalin asked quietly and inhaled deeply as he watched the king nod.

 

“Don’t speak of it to him.”

 

“Aye. Wasn’t my plan to anyway.” He murmured. He wasn’t sure how he’d even bring it up. “And uh…the rest?”

 

“The rest?”

 

“What went on this morning?”

 

Thorin swallowed thickly. “Gandalf is very protective of him. For obvious reasons.”

 

Dwalin raised a thick eyebrow. “And you tried to do him harm?”

 

“He thought that I meant to violate him too.”

 

“And what gave him that idea?”

 

“I-.” Thorin stopped and shook his head. “Details are not important.”

 

“Well they’re a bit important, don’t you think?” Dwalin huffed. “Were you going to?”

 

Thorin turned to him with darkness anew in his eyes. “I would never!” He spat.

 

“Then why did Gandalf think it? He’s quite wise, Thorin. He’s pretty damn good at working these things out.”

 

 _Couldn’t work out what was happening when Bilbo was young though,_ Thorin thought to himself but didn’t say it out loud. “You cannot think that I would even consider it.”

 

“Then tell me what happened!”

 

“No.” Thorin muttered. “No, it’s shameful.”

 

“I never judged you the last time, did I?” Dwalin mumbled and Thorin gave him a sideways glance.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“In Erebor. I could…hear a fair bit of what went on.” Dwalin admitted and Thorin frowned deeply. That was quite mortifying to know.

 

“It’s still shameful. I don’t wish to speak about it.”

 

“Then don’t be angry at us for coming to our own conclusions.” Dwalin huffed.

 

The Dwarf king knew he had to explain. It all just sounded so… adolescent. But with a deep sigh, he began. “Bilbo asked me to stay with him and I agreed. I knew Gandalf would be angry so when he came to bed I hid under Bilbo’s covers with him and held him until he fell asleep. Then I…” He cleared his throat softly. “I…satisfied myself with my hand.”

 

Dwalin snorted and could do nothing but make an attempt to hide his amusement even despite Thorin’s fiery glance to him. “You must be joking.”

 

Thorin felt a blush rise and shook his head. “I’ve already said it was shameful. There’s no need to make me feel worse.”

 

“I’m not trying to!” He regained control of himself and settled a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. “At least tell me it was worth it.”

 

He scowled and shook his head shifting again out from under his arm. “It was only done to relieve tension.” To that Dwalin snorted again. “It was!” Thorin insisted. “It was not because I shared a bed with him.”

 

Dwalin still couldn’t help the grin. “I never said it was!”

 

“We’re not courting.” Thorin growled. “And it will not happen again. As funny as you seem to find this, it’s a serious matter.”

 

Dwalin cleared his throat. “Do we still have a burglar with us then?”

 

“He assured me last night that he wished to continue, but after this morning I can’t be certain.”

 

The pair looked the doors of the inn as Gandalf and the other dwarves began to file out into the snow, as well as eventually Bilbo who leaned against Bofur like a crutch.

 

“Speak not to him of what you know.” Thorin murmured to his closest friend. “Take the others aside away from him and let them know that he is not to be made aware of any rumours regarding him. If they ask what occurred this morning tell them Gandalf mistook me for an intruder.”

 

Dwalin gave a single nod of understanding and Thorin began to lead the company off into the snow.

 

He barely even gave a thought to the dream.

 

-o-

 

_“Don’t touch me.”_

_Amaranth had blinked and curled her fingers back to her palm as she removed it from his bare flank._

_“Did I do something wrong?” She had asked, biting the edge of her lip as she instinctively moved close to him again, only for him to hold up his hand to block her touch._

_“I said don’t touch me” He had snapped again, splashing another handful of icy water into his face, gasping for breath afterwards._

_The younger Hobbit’s face had fallen and she folded her arms across her chest awkwardly. “I thought we were having a good time…” She’d mumbled only to be met with Bilbo’s deep sigh._

_“I’d like you to leave please.”_

_Amaranth had blinked in surprise, again. “But the sun’s not even up yet!”_

_“Put your clothes back on and leave please.”_

_“You weren’t like this last night.” She’d sighed and once again tried to rub at the back of his shoulder blade. He’d swung round with an open fist and almost struck her but regained his composure and lowered his hand again, his whole body shaking._

_“Don’t touch me…” He had whispered this time, swallowing back tears as he fought for breaths. He was going to break down, he’d known it._

_“Bilbo...” She’d tried, quietly, unsure of what was happening. His eyes seemed glassy and unfocussed as he stared into the middle distance, mumbling to himself._

_“Please don’t touch me. Please? I don’t want it. I don’t like it when you do that. I don’t want it. Please? I really don’t want you to touch me…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> half-of-a-halfling.tumblr.com


	7. Travelling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the pause after so many chapters in quick succession, but I lost internet completely for over a fortnight. Thank you for the kudos and comments in the meantime though, that was lovely to come back. There will be another pause again because of some serious stuff going on right now and I can't commit too hard to deadlines.
> 
> As ever small alterations will probably made to correct mistakes.

Thorin was true to his oath as they set out, though it was quite easy to do so when he stationed himself near the front of the Company and Bilbo trudged along at the back of the party, feet cold in the snow, despite their hair and the thickness of the soles.

 

No one seemed to give a thought to the Halfling’s bare feet on the frozen ground but as the ground turned from slush to thick snow, Thorin looked down to his thick boots and knew it was probably causing Bilbo discomfort. He began to throw glances to the back of their line, where Bilbo plodded along awkwardly. He’d ceased leaning against Bofur about a mile away from the inn, but the dwarf remained close to him just in case.

 

Dwalin had worked his way down the line, murmuring in Khuzdul what he’d been asked to, to the other Dwarves, who also looked back to Bilbo from time to time, which did little to alleviate Bilbo’s fears and he his face in the collar of his jacket as best he could.

 

Due to his proximity to Bilbo, Bofur was not told in as clandestine a manner as the other Dwarves. Instead Dwalin approached the pair and, after giving Bilbo a weak smile, muttered, “The things we were joking about earlier. Off the table.”

 

Bofur turned his eyes to Bilbo and then back to Dwalin. “King’s Orders?”

 

“King’s orders.”

 

“Gotcha.”

 

Dwalin gave another smile and then moved back to near the front of the line to where he’d been first placed. Bofur turned to Bilbo, and gave him a small half grin.

 

“No more jokes then.”

 

“Jokes about what?” Bilbo asked quietly, painfully aware that the other Dwarves kept looking back to him.

 

“Just…general jokes. I suppose Thorin wants to keep things serious, seeing as how close we are to Erebor.”

 

Bilbo nodded, though he knew it was probably a lie. “Are we close?”

 

“Close-ish.” He shrugged

 

Bilbo nodded and continued to trudge slowly for a bit longer before he turned to Bofur again. “Did Thorin tell you?” He mumbled, heart thudding as he awaited an answer.

 

“Did he tell me what?”

 

He paused. “Never mind.”

 

“Master Baggins, if y’ever want to talk about anyth-”

 

“I’ve nothing to talk about.”

 

Bofur gave another half smile and nodded. “Well the offer’s not going away anytime soon.”

 

Bilbo kept his eyes on him for a while longer than necessary and furrowed his brow. “Thank you.” He whispered finally, though the words were almost lost to the winds that had picked up around them.

 

It was only natural that the weather would worsen as they scaled the small mountain at the end of the valley. Even despite the extra day they had spent at the inn to avoid bad weather, it was still a challenge to move in the gusts and sleet and eventually they were forced to take shelter in a cavern, only just large enough to hold them all, with Gandalf ducking down low to fit inside.

 

It was there that Thorin took a knife to his pelt and cut two large strips from the bottom, almost halving the size of the fur. It was no bother to him. It wasn’t as though he was incapable of finding himself another. Along with this, he cut two long thin strips from the side of the fleece.

 

Under the cautious gaze of Gandalf, he crossed the cave and couldn’t help but brush shoulders with the other dwarves. He stopped just short of where Bilbo sat, Bofur still at his side and clutched the strips in a tight fist, born of nerves. Bilbo looked to him only once and then turned away again and Thorin bit the inside of his lip, turning to Bofur instead.

 

“Wrap his feet.” He mumbled gruffly, passing the pieces of fur to the dwarf who was quickly becoming Bilbo’s caregiver. He raised an eyebrow to the gift.

 

“I don’t think he needs-”

 

“I think he does.” Thorin said quickly and Bofur turned to the Halfling, who said nothing either way. “When they’re wrapped, we’ll set off again.” The Dwarf king murmured and left to move back to the other side of the cave.

 

Bofur looked at the fur and Bilbo held out his hands to take them. “Do you want me to do it?”

 

Bilbo still said nothing but shook his head and the dwarf passed him the pelt pieces, watching silently as he bound his feet with the fur-side against his soles, skin-side on the outside, tying them at the ankle with the shorter strips. He stood with a hand from Bofur, and curled his toes up in the makeshift moccasins.

 

It felt odd, wearing the small fur pieces. His feet felt constricted and trapped and not entirely comfortable. Each step felt like he was walking on carpet, which was quite at odds with the hard ground he knew he should feel underfoot. But his toes were warm and snug in the fur. And he quite liked that.

 

But he liked more that the shoes came from Thorin.

 

Bofur gave a nod to his leader who gave the orders to the others that they were to continue on, but it wasn’t as though they hadn’t heard from Thorin’s conversations with Bofur a few moments earlier.

 

And they set off again, around the edge of the mountain. Bilbo couldn’t deny he was grateful for the shoes as the snowdrift deepened again. He’d never had shoes before, not even little improvised ones like these.

 

But then again he’d never had to walk in the deep snow. It never snowed like this in the Shire. There were harsh winters of course, as there were in many places but Hobbits didn’t really go outside when that was the case. They just stayed inside and cuddled up to loved ones, or in Bilbo’s case, sat close against the stove and took his meals by the fireplace. He would move his armchair as near to the hearth as he could without it being in danger of catching fire at the trim and settle in with one of his books and a plate of sandwiches on the arm beside him.

 

The memories of these past winters warmed him a little as he trekked on over rocks and Bofur caught him smiling lightly to himself.

 

“Cheered up a bit?” He asked, tapping the back of his shoulder and Bilbo looked to him.

 

“Oh? Oh yes. Thank you.” Bilbo mumbled.

 

“Enjoying your little slippers?”

 

Bilbo looked down to his feet and nodded. They were like slippers, really, when he put some thought to it. And he’d had slippers before when he was young and his feet were smaller. Just not really ones that he tied round his ankles, of course, that sort of defeated the concept of slippers. He couldn’t see himself wearing shoes again, but these were a present. Something Thorin had ruined his pelt for.

 

Bilbo cleared his throat and moved close to Bofur, leaning up to whisper under the flaps of his hat. “Is Thorin angry with me?”

 

Bofur jumped a little at the unexpected voice at his ear and had to think for a moment before answering. “Not as far as I can tell.” He shrugged. “Like I told you, think he’s just keepin’ things serious.” And Bilbo nodded.

 

“Could you – when we stop somewhere again, could you tell Thorin that I’m really sorry.” He mumbled. “Because I am and I need to make sure he knows but I don’t…I can’t really talk to him.”

 

“’m sure he wouldn’t mind you telling him that.” Bofur replied. He didn’t want to pry too far into why Bilbo would be sorry. He’d heard the rumours.

 

“I can’t really speak to him.”

 

“He spoke to you earlier.”

 

“No he spoke to _you._ ” Bilbo pointed out and the Dwarf had to agree there.

 

He shrugged. “Really, I don’t think he’s angry with you though.”

 

Bilbo’s breathing quickened and he looked to Ori and Dori a little way in front of them. He shifted uncomfortably before he grabbed Bofur’s hand with both of his and moved back under the flap of his hat. “Can I tell you something in private?”

 

Bofur blinked and his gloved hand twitched under Bilbo’s hard grip. “Course.” He replied quietly. Bilbo paused in his step and with his hand still clutched, Bofur was forced to do the same.

 

Three or four dwarves in front of him turned as they stopped and Bofur waved his free hand to them. “Just going for a slash. We’ll catch up.” He assured them and they nodded and carried on.

 

He took Bilbo aside from the trail so they were shielded by the rocks of the mountain. “What d’you need to tell me?”

 

Bilbo was quiet a bit longer, shifting from foot to foot as he found his words. “Last night… I did something wrong.”

 

Bofur said nothing, afraid to interrupt him, lest he stop talking altogether.

 

“I-I told Thorin to share my bed. He d-didn’t want to. He didn’t want to and _he told me_ that he didn’t want to…” He swallowed thickly, running his hands down his face. “But I _made_ him stay, even though he kept saying…” Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek shaking his head. “And I put my arms around him and I held him and I pushed close and I kissed his lips…” He choked on his breath and turned away, shoulders hunched until Bofur put his hands on his upper-arms, fearing panic would overcome him again.

 

“It’s okay.” He whispered quietly. “It’s okay, I hear you.”

 

Bilbo shook his head again. “It’s not okay though.” He murmured, scrunching up his face to stop the tears. He couldn’t cry again. There was no way Thorin would let him carry on with them if he was crying all the time.

 

“Bilbo, it _is_ okay.” Bofur told him again. “Anything you tell me here, stays here. Cross my heart.” He let Bilbo steady himself against him. “If he’s so angry with you anyway, why’d he cut up his fur for you to wrap y’feet?”

 

“So I wouldn’t slow everyone down…” Bilbo mumbled.

 

Bofur had to accept that it was a reasonable conclusion to draw. “Well…I mean, Master Baggins, let’s be honest here… Thorin’s a king. He’s not the kind to just go along with stuff that he doesn’t want.” He told him. “If he didn’t want it he coulda just left.”

 

He clearly didn’t understand at all. “Well it’s not just that.” He mumbled, shuffling his feet around again. “I just think it gave him the wrong idea.” Bofur raised an eyebrow. What sort of idea was taking him to bed and kissing him supposed to elicit? Bilbo covered his face so as not to see the dubious look in Bofur’s eyes. “I knew it wouldn’t make any sense.”

 

“No…no…” The Dwarf hushed him. “No need to get upset, I get it.”

 

“I didn’t want sex. I promise.” He gasped out. “I really didn’t! I just didn’t want to be alone again…”

 

Bofur took his small hands in his larger gloved ones. “We need to get back to the others.” He mumbled. He hated to cut him off like this, but he hated the idea of getting left behind in the wilderness a little bit more. Bilbo nodded, catching his breath as they moved out from behind the rocks and moved further along the path they assumed the Company had taken. They stopped several times on route and in each instance, Bilbo would mumble a little bit more about what had happened in the morning and what had happened the first night and eventually he tugged Bofur aside once more, as they spotted the rest of the Dwarves ahead of them on the trail. And there, once Bilbo had caught his breath, he mumbled finally to Bofur that he’d been taken against his will in the past.

 

And Bofur had squeezed his hand back, just as hard and said nothing.

 

“Bofur?” He mumbled, concerned by his silence. “Did you hear what I told you?”

 

“I heard.” The Dwarf replied.

 

“Did you understand?”

 

“I understood.”

 

“You’re not saying anything.”

 

Bofur cleared his throat. “Not really sure what I’m s’posta say.” He heard it as rumour but it didn’t quite compare with hearing it from Bilbo.

 

The Hobbit was silent again as they caught up to the tail end of the Company and Dori turned back round to them, one eyebrow raised. “Long piss?”

 

“Nah we just took a really arse-backwards route back here.” Bofur murmured, scratching at the back of his head and put a bit more distance between themselves and the Dwarves in front. He didn’t like what he’d been told. It didn’t settle with him. But it was after another hour of silence between himself and Bilbo that he spoke again. “Thorin knows about all of that, right?” He murmured, trying not to attract attention from the others in front of them.

 

Bilbo gave a solitary nod.

 

“You ought to speak with him. I’m certain he’s not angry with you.” Bofur told him, assuredly and the Hobbit wrapped his arms tight around himself.

 

“How can you be so sure?”

 

Bofur sighed. “If you were him, would you be angry with you?”

 

“Yes.” Bilbo replied, frankly.

 

“Okay forget that.” Bofur sighed and tried again. “If someone you knew had been defiled and ended up with a bit of a skewed view on what was appropriate and pushed boundaries a bit…but didn’t like it when you pushed back…would you be angry?”

 

Bilbo was quiet to that as he thought over it. Did he have a skewed view on such matters? He cast a worried eye to Bofur, who held up his hands defensively.

 

“Just trying to make you feel better about things.”

 

“Do you really think I don’t know what’s appropriate?” He mumbled and Bofur heaved a heavy sigh.

 

“Well you seem to blur the lines between what’s chaste and what’s not.” He murmured, lowering his voice. “You don’t want sex but you take him to bed and you make it clear you’re not courting but you’re also snogging him…just sounds a bit off to me.”

 

Bilbo worried at the lip and wrung his hands at his chest again, an act that was quickly becoming a habit. “It’s not…I’m not explaining it right.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I _can_ explain it. Not properly.”

 

Bofur shrugged. “Well I still think you ought to tell him. If he’s angry and you tell him you’re sorry, maybe he’ll just forgive you. And if he’s not angry in the first place, maybe he’ll turn the rest of his pelt into a little pair of mittens…” He gave a small smirk to Bilbo. “You’re not going to win his affections by never speaking to him again.”

 

Bilbo’s eyes widened at the implications of his last comment and he glanced up to Bofur.

 

“It is his affections you’re after, isn’t it? If it’s not sex.” The Dwarf asked, raising an eyebrow and Bilbo scrunched his hands into fists and said nothing. “Done talking then.” Bofur mumbled with another sigh and just continued to look at the rocks either side of the trail as the snow drift eventually turned to dirt underfoot the further they descended down the mountainside.

 

-o-

 

_“He’s a good uncle, isn’t he?”_

_Balin looked to Bilbo, a thick white eyebrow raised. “Were you asking me or telling me?” He replied._

_Bilbo blinked. “Both, I suppose.” The hobbit mumbled, glancing back to where Thorin was dressing a slash wound to Fíli’s ankle by the fireside. “I mean, he appears to be…”_

_“Not just appearances.” Balin murmured, with a slow nod, passing a bowl of rabbit stew from Bombur across to him. “He’s very good to them.”_

_He smiled broadly and began to sup at the stew. “Do you have any nieces or nephews?”_

_Balin shook his head. “No. Well, Gloin’s young lad, he’s my nephew really I suppose. Cousin’s son, but the closest I’ve got unless Dwalin finds himself a female who can put up with him.” Oin tapped him on the side and muttered something to him. “Oh no hold on, Dain’s lad.” He added and then thought about that for a moment. “No, he’s not. If he’s my nephew, so are Fíli and Kíli.” Balin furrowed his brow and frowned. “Dwalin, is Thorin III our nephew?” He called out to his brother and the much taller, stronger Dwarf shook his head._

_“If he’s our nephew, so are Fíli and Kíli.” He replied, repeating Balin’s sentiment._

_Balin nodded but then thought about it a while. “My grandfather was the brother of Thorin’s grandfather…no wait a moment, cousin, they were cousins. So no, I don’t. Just one sort-of-nephew. No nieces” He paused again. “I’m not a particularly good at that sort of thing anyway.” Balin admitted._

_Bilbo smiled and took another mouthful of the stew. “But Thorin is?”_

_“Well at the very least, I’m sure he knows who is and isn’t his nephew.” Balin laughed. “But like I said, he’s good to Fí and Kí. Always has been since they were small...”_

_The Halfling blushed and hid his face a little. Perhaps he ought not to be hearing this._

_“Hard to believe, I know!” Balin grinned looking at his blush. “No, he always helped them along and trained them in whatever they needed to know and tucked them in at night when their mother weren’t around to do it. Sing them little songs and the like when they couldn’t sleep…” He spotted the look Thorin was giving him from the other side of the camp. He’d heard then. Balin cleared his throat a little and shrugged lightly. “All the usual things.”_

_Bilbo grinned broadly but didn’t look up from his stew. All the usual things. He finished his meal quickly and was alone with his thoughts for a while as he continued to watch across the camp to where Thorin had finished with the bandage and now just sat, talking with his sister-sons._

_And with a small sigh, he felt normal for the first time in such a long time, with the thought that maybe it wasn’t just he and Hildifons that had practised such acts. ‘Helped them along…trained them in whatever they needed to know...tucked them in at night’. The blush still covered his little cheeks but it was lighter now. And he felt better._

_The shame seemed almost lifted. He didn’t have to feel so wrong._

_It must be difficult, Bilbo mused to himself, for Thorin to go without the affections of his nephews for so very long…_

-o-

 

When the Company next paused they were in the valley on the other side of the mountain. It was yet another long valley that again seemed to stretch out forever before them with the assurance from Gandalf that the edge of the Greenwood Kingdom lay at the other end.

 

The pause was agreed upon at the edge of a stream, where Gandalf and several of the Dwarves dipped their feet, and those who had not had the time to bathe at the inn began to strip off and wade deeper into the stream to wash themselves in the cool waters.

 

Bilbo shrugged off his jacket and tugged off his shirt over his head and stood around, awkwardly, for a while on bank, until Gandalf moved to his side and placed a hand to his back ushering him away from the group.

 

“I-I was going to talk to Thorin…” He protested quietly, looking back to where the Dwarf king stood in the water.

 

“No, you’re going to bathe.” Gandalf corrected him, ignoring his small worried expression.

 

“I could do both.”

 

“I think it’s for the best that you just bathe for now.”

 

Bilbo gave a sad nod, as he glanced over his shoulder again to Thorin, who was watching him being lead further upstream.

 

 _Of course he wouldn’t want to bathe with us_ , Thorin told himself, _of course he’d want some privacy._

But he’d bathed with them before. When they’d stopped at running water and washed themselves, all together, he’d always been there. He’d seemed uncomfortable at first but as the days passed and he knew it was just how things were going to be, he learned to get on with it. No one was ever looking at him – well maybe they were at first.

 

His body just seemed so alien to them. So bare and hairless in comparison. He had some hair on him of course, light scatterings in the usual places, the short brown curls on his chest and under his navel down to his groin, but nothing like the dwarves had. And the lack of beard, that seemed odd as well. Such a smooth, naked face.

 

Thorin moved to deeper waters until it reached his shoulders and continued to watch Bilbo from a distance as he untied the furs from his feet and stripped off his trousers and the small cotton shorts he insisted on wearing underneath them.

 

He wasn’t really like a dwarf at all, in anything other than his short stature, stocky build and tanned complexion. Beardless, leaf-shaped ears, soft hair, nimble fingered, light-footed…like an Elf. As though an Elf and a Dwarf had bred together a new race, solely to create as cherubic a being as a Hobbit.

 

Such an act would probably be uncomfortable to witness though. And it didn’t really explain the large feet either.

 

It was at this point that Thorin began to believe that his thoughts had strayed from the matter at hand and he blinked away the mental image of a dwarf and an elf copulating, and moved to an even deeper area and sank down under the water to fully wet his thick hair.

 

Bilbo splashed the water up to his chest and looked up to the cliffs that they’d just passed over. He stood still for a while, shoulders hunched as the cold began to chill him, while Gandalf sat on the bank, feet in the water, laying back against the grass.

 

“Troubled?” The wizard murmured after a time.

 

“Cabed Naeramarth.” Bilbo mumbled eventually after the questioned finally registered in his mind.

 

Gandalf sat up a little and shook his head. “It’s not Cabed Naeramarth.” He assured him.

 

“Certainly makes me think of it, though. Like the illustration of it I had in a book.”

 

“Well I’m completely sure it’s not.” Gandalf muttered. “It would be quite a leap from there to the River Teiglin, no matter who you’d married.”

 

“I didn’t say that it was them. Just that it looked like the illustration that I had.” Bilbo huffed and sat down in the water, up to his neck. Gandalf was beginning to grate on his nerves with his fussing and chaperoning and insisting on holding his hand as he moved down the uneven rocks at the bottom of the mountain, as though he were still a child.

 

“Why can’t I bathe with the Dwarves?” Bilbo asked finally.

 

“Now, you know why so there’s no need to ask questions like that.”

 

Bilbo pouted again and splashed the water either side of him. “Because you don’t trust me.”

 

“It’s not that I don’t trust _you_.” Gandalf sighed and sat up further but Bilbo only wrinkled his nose and lay back to float in waist-deep water.

 

“Well if I want to go and wash with them, you can’t really stop me.” The Hobbit informed him, letting his ears sink under the surface, so Gandalf’s most likely huffed reply went unheard.

 

Thorin could stop him though. He could order him away and tell him he wasn’t welcome after what he did in the night. Maybe in ten years or so, when Thorin finally forgave him he could come back to Erebor and bathe there. They probably wouldn’t be bathing in streams there though. The probably had nice baths with feet with claws on the bottom or built into the ground, like he’d seen in illustrations in his books. They almost certainly wouldn’t all be washing together.

 

It began to dawn on Bilbo that he might not wash with Thorin again. They wouldn’t be bathing in Greenwood after hearing so many horrible tales of the water that flowed through it driving outsiders mad. Then it wouldn’t be far until Laketown, which no doubt had more than enough baths for none of them to have to share.

 

“…n’t do that you’ll get water in your ears.” Gandalf’s voice faded back in as his hands tugged his top half out of the water until he sat up. Bilbo struggled out of his grip and shifted back until he was in a deeper part of the river where the wizard couldn’t get to him without soaking his cloak and lay back again, trying to relax until he finally began to float.

 

He grinned to himself as he realised the flow of the water was carrying him even further away from Gandalf’s reach. Good, Bilbo thought, I’ve gone without someone mothering over me for years now, I can survive another ten minutes.

 

Bilbo just lay flat with his arms out for some time until he realised just how far he’d been carried by the gentle current. Though the sky above him looked much the same, as looked to the side he saw Bifur on the bank, soaking his feet much like Gandalf had. With a startled expression he pushed his feet back under himself to put himself vertical in the water again and tried to touch the bottom of the river, only to find to his alarm that his foot simply fell further into colder water. It was much deeper here than he’d expected and he sunk down into the water up over his chin and mouth and nose.

 

He splashed his hand on the surface of the water to try and steady himself but was too shocked by the sudden depth to tread water effectively, and unable to make a noise any louder than a murmur with the water splashing up over his lips and the tight, short gasps for breath.

 

It was then that he turned quickly and found himself pressed against a Dwarven chest, one arm coming behind him to hold him steady. Bilbo spluttered a little and tensed in his arms, heart thumping with panic but began to calm eventually once he’d awkwardly wrapped his legs around the other’s waist and could assure himself he was not going to sink again.

 

“Steady.” Bilbo was instructed and he went pliant in his arms. Thorin. If he hadn’t known from the deep rumbled of a voice, the dark bruises across his shoulders and chest would have quickly told him it was none other than him. “I’ve got you.”

 

Nodding quickly, Bilbo allowed himself to be carried to shallower water, still clinging to Thorin’s front, blushing furiously at his own foolishness. No doubt Gandalf would be quick to use this as an example to Bilbo that he required supervision and a hand to hold.

 

“Can you stand?” Thorin asked him quietly and loosened the arm around him, watching worriedly as Gandalf made his way down the side of the bank. He couldn’t blame him for this, could he? Was he supposed to just let the Halfling struggle around in the deep water until another Dwarf came to his aid?

 

Bilbo nodded again, his legs still partially tangled about Thorin’s waist and slid weakly down his front until his feet touched the bottom. His cheeks pinkened and Thorin’s blush spread from his face to his neck and he cleared his throat as the Hobbit prised himself away and made his way out of the water and onto the bank to gather up his clothes that Gandalf had brought with him.

 

Following the brief incident, it seemed as good a time as any for the other Dwarves to get out of the water and dry off on the grass as best they could before dressing again.

 

No further communication took place between Bilbo and Thorin between then and when the Company stopped in the late afternoon at the home of a friend of Gandalf.

 

“He knew me,” The old Wizard had told them at least twice to Bilbo’s memory, “When I was called Olórin.” Bilbo had begun to grow tired of Gandalf’s seemingly never-ending list of monikers and their use as gauges of how far back his friendships with others went. He was Mithrandir and Gandalf and Olórin and at least six that Bilbo was quite sure he’d made up just for something to say.

 

Their host wasn’t present when they arrived at what appeared to be an old mead hall-cum-barn-cum-dwelling but Gandalf assured them they were allowed to enter and begin to bed down there.

 

The exterior was clad with wooden trunks and the roof thatched with dark rushes and a set of old, uneven, stone steps lead up to the front door, lined either side with tall grass and colourful wildflowers. Inside, the ceiling was high and peaked in the middle and from the beams that crossed from wall to wall, hung pots and pans and pouches of herbs and spices and drying sunflower heads and great pieces of honeycomb, strung up with string. Hay and sawdust were scattered across the floor and the home was quite sparse of furniture, save a large, intricately carved, wooden block that seemed to be serving as a table or work bench for Gandalf’s friend, with long pews on either side, and various pieces of equipment littered around that Bilbo was unable to name or give an exact use for, though it had the inherent air of simultaneous sharpness and dullness that only antique farming tools can produce.

 

The table top was littered with small glass pots of honey with squares of parchment tied around the top. ‘He keeps bees.’ Gandalf explained, though that was clear as the Company cautiously began to explore the house further. An open door at the other end of the long building, lead to a stone courtyard with a pile of chopped wood, axe stuck still in one large log, and a short way away some large wooden boxes and wicker baskets, both found to contain hives.

 

The size of the insects startled the Company though. Bees, larger than Bilbo’s thumb buzzed around the courtyard and the surrounding wild flowers, in and out of the holds in the boxes and baskets and the Hobbit sat on the wall at the edge of the courtyard watching them intently in the fading light. They were all fluffy and their eyes were black and glossy and he liked their little pollen covered legs that felt funny on the back of his hand.

 

“There’s a big jug of milk in the kitchen if you’d like some?” Bilbo looked up to see Balin beside him and smiled broadly.

 

He liked it in the courtyard here. It was the closest he’d found on his journey to anywhere resembling the Shire. The flowers and the grass and the buzzing of insects. It all seemed familiar-ish. Distinctly different style of architecture and the landscape was nothing like that of his homeland of course. But the feel was there. Being out in the wild freeness of the open land while still knowing deep inside that you had somewhere safe to sleep that night.

 

“Thank you.” The Hobbit nodded, and shooed away the bee on the back of his wrist before standing and moving back into the house, taking a seat on the end of one of the pews, his chin only just reaching up over the edge of the table

 

The ‘kitchen’ as Balin had so dubbed it, turned out to be the two improvised meat safes beside a small pile of firewood, just inside the door and a little crate of wooden and tin cooking implements and plates.

 

Inside the first meat safe were several fish, hanging upside down from small hooks drilled into the wood. They were told, on no uncertain terms by Gandalf, not to touch those as they were more than likely being saved by their host for some special occasion. In the other safe were another half a dozen jars of honey, the clay milk jug and a store of vegetables.

 

“I feel awfully like that little girl in that story. Just letting myself into someone’s house and sampling their food and then taking myself off to bed.” Bilbo smiled to himself as Balin passed him the large cup that contained a small amount of milk with honey drizzled on top. He was a little disappointed by the quantity but after all, the jug had to get around everyone.

 

“I’m sure our host won’t mind.” Balin assured him.

 

Bilbo took the cup with both hands and brought it to his lips, downing the milk and honey in one mouthful. “So I’m not in danger of being chased away by bears then?”

 

Balin chuckled softly. “Is that what happened in your people’s tale? The story among the Dwarves is that the bears ate her to replace the food she stole.”

 

“Oh yes but then the woodsman bursts in and cuts her from the bear’s belly.”

 

The Dwarf paused, thinking that over for a moment. “No… I think that’s a different story.” He told him, with a furrowed brow.

 

“Oh.” Bilbo mumbled, wiping some of the milk from his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

 

“It’s been a long day.” Balin murmured and patted his back. “Have you recovered from your little adventure in the river?” The Hobbit frowned a little but said nothing. “Was that an impertinent question?”

 

Bilbo blinked, remembering his manners. Balin hadn’t meant any harm by asking. And he’d been nice and given him the milk. “No, it wasn’t. Sorry.” He answered finally, putting on another small smile. “No, I’m just a little bit tired from walking.”

 

“No one would mind if you took yourself off to a quiet corner and bedded down for the night.” Balin assured him, patting his shoulder.

 

He shrugged lightly and sipped the last drips of honey milk. “Maybe.”

 

Balin looked up to the other end of the table, where Thorin was sat with his nephews and Dwalin. “He’s not angry with you about the river, you understand?”

 

 _No he’s angry with me about other things,_ Bilbo thought, but just gave another shrug.

 

“I know he gives you a hard time about keeping up and being a bit soft about things, but he doesn’t dislike you.”

 

Bilbo lifted the cup to his lips again, even though he knew it to be finished and said nothing.

 

“But you’re angry with him I suppose.”

 

He blinked and lowered the cup. “I’m not angry with him. Why would I be?”

 

Balin cleared his throat again, lowering his voice to a murmur, though he was sure by Thorin’s expression he could still hear him. “Well we all saw the bruises when he was washing…and the one on your thigh…and you going off to wash away from everyone else…there’s talk, you know?”

 

Bilbo felt his cheeks redden again and slouched back in his chair, folding his arms over his stomach. “Well I’d like the talk to stop. I’m not angry with Thorin, I’m just tired and I just wanted to wash with a bit of privacy, thank you very much.” He snapped.

 

Balin took a step back at the outburst but nodded. “I didn’t mean any offence by it.” He tried to assure him. “We’re a close group, Bilbo. It’s only because we’re worried about you.”

 

“Well you needn’t.” Bilbo sighed, but his expression softened a little. “I’m perfectly alright by myself.”

 

“But the issue is, that you’re not by yourself. You’re part of the Company.” Balin told him, taking the cup from the table.

 

Bilbo frowned but eventually nodded, closing his eyes. “Right yes.” He whispered. “Yes, you’re right, I’m sorry. I’m being selfish.”

 

“It’s been a long day.” The Dwarf repeated.

 

Bilbo didn’t know about that though. Days had always seemed quite long to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://half-of-a-halfling.tumblr.com/


	8. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there's anything this chapter has taught me it's that Dwarves sleep through anything and of my own inability to remember how Beorn acts in the books.

“And I told Gandalf it looked like Cabed Naeramarth but he told me it wasn’t them. Did you think it looked like them?”

 

Thorin shrugged and pressed the heel of his palm to Bilbo’s navel, rubbing his stomach softly. “I’ve never seen Cabed Naeramarth.”

 

“Of course, neither have I, but it looked like the picture I had in a book.” Bilbo replied, squirming a little under the touch as Thorin’s other hand came up to run through his hair. “Didn’t you think?”

 

Thorin hummed and nodded. “It did look like it, didn’t it?” He agreed quietly and let Bilbo settle against his chest. “Gandalf’s not going to like this.”

 

“Then why are you doing it?”

 

“You know why, so there’s no need to ask questions like that.”

 

Bilbo nodded and sighed softly. It was nice and warm like this. Really warm. Just as he liked. “Do you love me?” He asked, and made no attempt to hide his bashfulness.

 

“Of course I do.” Thorin grinned and tightened his arms around him. “You’re getting too hot there.”

 

“What?” Bilbo murmured, feeling himself being pulled closer and closer to Thorin. Far closer than was comfortable.

 

_“You’re too close to the fire.”_

 

Bilbo jerked awake, but the grip around him remained as he was pulled away from the fire pit in the middle of the room. A dream. Oh. Now awake, he was much warmer than he’d felt while sleeping. He was boiling, his face sweaty and the heat hurt his eyes when he looked at the flames.

 

“You rolled over too far.” Bilbo was told, as he was positioned a few feet further back amongst the sleeping Dwarves. “I didn’t want you to end up getting cooked while you slept.” The Hobbit rubbed at his eyes and sat up awkwardly, looked to see who was talking to him.

 

A large, broad-shouldered man with a thick brow, long dark hair and a long dark beard to match it. He crouched now, beside Bilbo but when he finally stood again, he could see he was tall, taller than Gandalf for sure.

 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He told Bilbo, noting his fearful expression. “I didn’t want you to move any further and find yourself in the fire.”

 

“Th-thank you.” Bilbo murmured, curling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

 

“Do I scare you?”

 

Bilbo tensed and considered his answer. “You just startled me a bit, that’s all.”

 

He nodded and took a seat back down on the ground in front of the Hobbit, though he still towered over him. “My name is Beorn. This is my home.” The tall man explained and offered a hand which Bilbo shook, feeling that at the very least, he ought to be polite.

 

“Bilbo Baggins. At your service.”

 

Beorn smiled and said nothing as Bilbo removed his jacket and folded it up, to use as a pillow when he fell asleep again, though for now all thoughts of sleeping again were far from his mind. “You don’t look very much like a Dwarf.” He commented finally, once he’d made all necessary assessments to come to such a conclusion.

 

“That’s because I’m not.” Bilbo snorted quietly and looked down at himself. “I’m a Hobbit.”

 

He gave a slow nod and an expression that could come only from one who had no understanding of what they had just been told but had no wish to question it any further. “I’ve never known Dwarrow to band with those outside of their own race.” Beorn told him and it was fair comment to make. It was a rare occurrence. “Yet here you and Olórin are, with them.”

 

“There weren’t many willing to help them I suppose.”

 

“Help them to do what?”

 

Bilbo cleared his throat and shrugged. “I think I’ve said too much already.” He mumbled and Beorn nodded, stoking the fire. “Do you keep that burning all night?” The Hobbit asked changing the subject and he nodded again, gesturing to the gaps in the roof where the smoke billowed out.

 

“The walls are thin.” Beorn explained. “It’s very cold at this time.”

 

Bilbo looked at the fire for a while longer. “I have a little fireplace where I live.” He told him. “And I toast bread over it on a long fork in autumn and eat it with jam.” He wasn’t sure why he’d told him that, but Beorn smiled broadly at the anecdote.

 

“Would you like to do that now?” He asked, remembering the Hobbit’s absence at the dinner he’d shared with the other Dwarves and the Wizard. “I don’t have jam but I have fruit bread in the larder.”

 

Bilbo leaned forward. “The larder?” He queried and Beorn nodded, rising up to his feet again and gesturing for him to follow.

 

“It’s where I keep my food so it stays cool.”

 

“Yes I know what a larder _is_.” Bilbo sighed, following Beorn as he lit a candle at the fire pit and then moved to the other end of the house and outside into the courtyard. The Hobbit wrapped his arms tight around himself, regretting having left his jacket by the fire. He was lead to a small hatch in the long grass, beside the building and Beorn opened it, revealing a stone staircase that lead underground.

 

Bilbo was ushered down the steps, followed close behind by Beorn after some assurance that the structure and integrity of the room was perfectly safe. The walls of the small room were lined with shelves and these were packed with jars of honey and savoury preserves. Great pieces of meat and fish hung from hooks at one end and other cuts were parcelled up in yet more meat safes. Next to these, there were two barrels of fruit and vegetables, a tray of maybe two dozen eggs and metal boxes, the contents of which went unseen by Bilbo.

 

The Hobbit beamed, turning quickly to his host after he had taken in all the sights in this pantry. “How did you know you were to receive so many guests?” He asked with an inquisitive raise of his brow.

 

“I didn’t. This is my store for winter.”

 

“Oh.” Bilbo frowned, and thought of his own larder back at Bag End. That was really his store for winter now that he thought about it. It wasn’t nearly as grand as this though, especially now that it had been almost totally depleted by Dwarves.

 

“I require a lot of food in the winter months.” Beorn went on. “I keep it in here and I sleep there.” He pointed under the steps where the wall was hollowed away to make a space just large enough for someone of his stature to curl up to sleep.

 

Bilbo frowned again. “I feel as though I’m missing something here.” He sighed, looking to Beorn and then to his sleeping space. “Why do you live in your larder in the winter?” It wasn’t an idea he would ever really be against, but it didn’t seem to really fit with what he knew of Beorn, though admittedly this was little more than nothing at all.

 

“The river freezes in the winter and I can’t fish there. Most of the bees die once it gets cold and the rest spend all their time huddled together for warmth. I can’t grow very much in the ground and it would be a lot of effort to get up every day and move around when there’s so little to do, so I might as well conserve the energy and sleep for three months or so until it gets warmer.” He explained and Bilbo was forced to accept that it made a lot of practical sense.

 

“And you’ve always done this?”

 

“Every year that I’ve had to, I’ve done it.” He shrugged and Bilbo opened his mouth to question to nebulousness of his answer but he was cut off by what sounded like a low call of his name from up the stairs. He blinked, wondering if perhaps he’d just imagined it and Beorn looked down to him as the voice came again. “I think you’re being called for.”

 

Bilbo nodded, making his way back up the steps with Beorn close behind him, until he was above ground again and could see Thorin silhouetted at the doorway to the courtyard, looking out into the darkness. He heard his name called a third time and the Hobbit hunched his shoulders up, stepping forward.

 

“I’m here.” He mumbled, raising a hand weakly in an awkward wave.

 

Thorin gave a deep sigh. “What were you doing out here?” He asked, scrubbing a hand down over his face, before he caught sight of movement behind Bilbo and looked over the Hobbit’s shoulder to their host, who he’d met at dinner, long after Bilbo and a few other dwarves had fallen asleep by the fire pit.

 

“Don’t be angry with him.” Beorn told him, leaning down to settle a hand against Bilbo’s back. “He was hungry, I took him down to my larder.”

 

Thorin shook his head. “I’m not angry with him. I’m relieved.” He paused, wetting his lips as he stepped aside, allowing Bilbo and Beorn back into the warm of the house. “I thought… something had happened. I woke and I couldn’t see you, and your jacket and your little sword were on the ground and the door was open and…well I just didn’t know.”

 

Bilbo nodded, pursing his lips and moving one arm across himself.

 

“Next time, perhaps check the larder before worrying yourself.” Beorn murmured. He cut a few thick slices of the fruit bread he’d brought up from the food store, stuck one piece on the long spike he used to stoke the fire and passed it to Bilbo, before taking the loaf back down to the larder.

 

“I’m just glad you’re safe.” Thorin whispered, giving Bilbo a weak smile as he began to toast the bread over the flames.

 

Bilbo gave a small nod, turning his head away from him. He must have been quite a burden on Thorin that day. The events when they’d woken, his bare feet in the snow, almost drowning in water only a little higher than him and now wandering off in the night without a word to any of the Company. It surprised Bilbo that the Dwarf still bothered to keep an eye on him.

 

“Sorry.” He mumbled, finally, still looking into the fire.

 

Thorin tilted his head, unsure of whether he’d misheard. “Sorry for what?”

 

“An awful lot of things really.”

 

He frowned and shifted forward, looking to Beorn and then to Bilbo. “I meant it, I’m not angry that you went to get food.” Thorin swallowed thickly. “But you’re not talking about that are you?”

 

Bilbo shook his head and gave a fleeting glance back to Beorn who was still outside for the time being.

 

“Bofur told me some things over dinner.” Thorin explained in hushed tones. “That you felt like you caused what happened this morning - that you’d…overstepped during the night.”

 

The Hobbit tensed. “He promised that would stay between me and him.” He mumbled and didn’t look to Thorin. He supposed that he’d told the other Dwarf to tell Thorin that he was sorry but that wasn’t really the same thing.

 

“He said you thought I was angry with you.” Thorin went on. “I’m not angry with you.” He assured him, leaning forward, close to Bilbo, who did not react. “I swear I’m not, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

 

He shook his head and shrugged, taking the toasted bread from the spike and began to eat it slowly.

 

“Are you angry with me?” Came Thorin’s voice perhaps a minute or so later after Beorn had returned to the main building and re-bolted the door again. Bilbo didn’t answer that. He looked, instead, to Beorn who looked back to him and then to Thorin.

 

The tall man took a seat beside the two of them and began toasting some bread of his own on the stoker. “There is no need for you to still be up, now that you know he is safe.” He murmured to the Dwarf king.

 

Thorin blinked at what appeared to him to a hint of demand in the Skin Changer’s voice. He continued to sit by the fire for a moment, but in time rose to his feet again and said his goodnights which went unreturned by the pair, still eating their toast by the flickering flames. At this lack of response he cleared his throat and silently moved back to where he had lain down his blankets.

 

For maybe an hour afterwards Beorn continued to pass Bilbo slices of fruit bread that he’d cut from the loaf and watched as he toasted them slowly and then ate them. Nothing was said between them save for the few words of gratitude that Bilbo mumbled at each new offering of bread. It was clear to Beorn that he most likely hadn’t been eating regularly or well for some time, judging by how he managed to polish of the half of the loaf without complaint.

 

“He scares you.” Beorn murmured, finally, tilting his head towards Bilbo, who jumped a little at the sudden sound.

 

The Hobbit shook his head quickly, once what had been said had registered in his ears. “No. I’m not scared.” He insisted, eyes darting to where Thorin had lain down in the straw by the wall.

 

Beorn narrowed his eyes to the sleeping Dwarves. “Is it because you are not the same kind of Dwarf?”

 

“I’m still not a Dwarf!” Bilbo huffed again, but calmed himself quickly, knowing he ought not be so rude to his host. “I’m a Hobbit.”

 

“I don’t know what that is.”

 

“It’s…well it’s a…me. What I am.”

 

“A beardless Dwarf.” The Skin Changer replied.

 

“No!” Bilbo flopped back and lay against the floor, warming his feet by the fire. “We’re different.”

 

Beorn nodded but his expression remained dubious. “Dwarves only care for their own kind.” He murmured. “But he cares for you.”

 

“No he doesn’t.” The Hobbit sighed, biting the inside of his lower lip. “I’m a constant burden to him.” He folded his arms across his chest and stared straight up at the chimney hole in the roof.

 

Frowning again, Beorn touched the edge of one of Bilbo’s large feet, just as big as his own, an act that made Bilbo tense for a second as he looked for the source of the contact. “Please don’t do that.” He mumbled, finally meeting Beorn’s eye and the Skin Changer withdrew his hand with a nod of apology.

 

“Burden or not, he cares.” Beorn muttered, and rose up to his feet. “Sleep away from the fire. I won’t be back before breakfast.” He instructed.

 

Bilbo sat up quickly and blinked. “You’re not going out this late, are you?”

 

Beorn didn’t even look back to him as he moved towards the door. “I’ve been out later.” He muttered and to Bilbo’s surprise, stripped out of the tunic he wore and set off out of the door, and into the darkness.

 

Nerves set in again after Beorn had left the house and Bilbo pulled his jacket up from behind him and wrapped it around himself, even though he wasn’t cold. Just for comfort. Eventually he sighed and shuffled back until he was safely away from the fire and amongst the Dwarves again.

 

Beside Thorin.

 

He furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes to the Dwarf King, as if suspicious whether he truly slept or not and he thought over what Beorn had told him. That Thorin cared for him. He didn’t quite believe it though. He was concerned for him, maybe. But he didn’t care.

 

It didn’t particularly matter either way really. It was too late to think about it in any real depth. He curled up under his thin blanket that had been left in the straw and he slept.


	9. Rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I left this so long. It will not happen again, she lied.

Beorn didn’t return until after dawn and when he did, he took himself away to a shadowy corner where he slept for the best part of the morning. When he woke he had his fill of the fruit bread and honey and fish and porridge and went to work at the hives and garden.

 

An idyllic existence, Bilbo thought to himself, as he sat at the table with the other Dwarves in the late afternoon, supping at the creamy milk from one of the steins being passed around between them. Much like the life he lived back at Bag End. Lots of sleeping and eating and wandering around outdoors and tending to his plants. Just without anyone else nearby to trouble him.

 

He smiled lightly and took a swig from the milk again before wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve and passing it along to Fíli beside him.

 

The Company had spent much of the day in a similar style to the day spent at the inn. Sharpening weaponry, repairing clothes and shoes that had been damaged in the climb over the rocky terrain and studying maps and weather patters to plan their best route through Mirkwood and beyond.

 

And of course, quietly murmuring to each other about what they had and had not heard about their Burglar in their native tongue and glancing over their shoulders to make sure their king was not around to hear it.

 

Bilbo, for the most part stayed away from most of the Dwarves when he suspected that they were discussing him and stayed sat, either out in the garden by the hatch to the larder or at the table, perched on the edge of one of the high benches as he was now. He hadn’t spoken to Thorin since the previous night and hadn’t mentioned any of the events to Gandalf. Once Beorn had found him sitting in the long grass after having woken, Bilbo had thanked him for his hospitality and apologised for what could have been construed as rudeness on his part. But they didn’t chat. Beorn didn’t seem one for small talk and the Hobbit appreciated that.

 

He could see the Skin-Changer chopping wood in the courtyard, from where he was sat at the table and sighed softly, excusing himself quietly, although no one was listening and made his way outside , outside to sit on one of the logs and continued to watch Beorn bring the axe down against the wood.

 

“Don’t sit so close, the wood splinters will get you.” He told him between swings, but Bilbo didn’t move and he shrugged a broad shoulder. “If you get hit, you won’t be happy.”

 

Bilbo still didn’t react any more than wrinkling his nose.

 

“Suit yourself.”

“What happens to your house in the winter?” The Hobbit asked after a while and the Skin-Changer raised his eyebrows.

 

“It stays right there.” Beorn replied before clearing his throat. “I don’t understand the question.” He admitted afterwards.

 

Bilbo smiled lightly. “Well, it must get terribly dusty and dirty when you’re living in your larder. How do you prevent that?” He watched as Beorn set his axe down and gave him a queer look.

 

“I don’t.” He frowned and Bilbo furrowed his brow, trying to comprehend such a situation before deciding it was simply easier to accept it was beyond his comprehension.

 

“Well, what if robbers move in?”

 

“That’s never happened in the past.”

 

The Hobbit swallowed and bit the inside of his lip. “Have you never thought of having someone live in your house in the winter to look after it?”

 

“No, I have never thought of such a thing.”

 

“W-would you consider it?” He asked quietly, swinging his legs against the trunk beneath him.

 

The Skin-Changer took up his axe again. “No.” He replied simple and went back to cutting wood, much to Bilbo’s disappointment. It didn’t seem worth it to continue with the line of questioning.

 

Did he not get lonely out in the middle of nowhere, Bilbo wondered to himself, or was it as nice as it sounded just to live without the fear of some well-wisher popping over four times a day, expecting conversation and a meal?

 

Bilbo looked back to the house. The small gaps between the walls and the roof where the stones had crumbled away and the places where the thatch had decayed in the damp. The rust on the door hinges and the rot in the frames of the windows.

 

It was liveable, there was no doubt about that. It was warm at night and cool in the midday sun, with the doors open at either end the larder was stocked full of food. But it wasn’t a home, yet.

 

Floorboards could be lain down and maybe mosaic tiles around the fire pit and the walls could be plastered and painted in creams and whites to brighten it up and the beams sanded and waxed and maybe they could put some additions onto the sides for extra bedrooms and sitting rooms for putting up the very, very occasional guest and maybe the whole house could be extended on a split level to incorporate the larder as part of the house, like a cellar and news windows and a new door, green and round like the one at his old house and proper steps down to the path and-

 

Bilbo yelped loudly as he felt something strike and scratch the side of his cheek, and his hands flew up to clutch at his face.

 

“I told you.” Beorn sighed and set down the hatchet again, crouching down to his side. “You sleep too close to the fire and you sit too close to the axe.” But Bilbo didn’t reply, still hiding his cheek. He could feel it bleeding against his palm where a sharp splinter had struck it. “Is it your eye?” The Skin-Changer asked, the concern finally showing in his voice as he cupped a large hand almost around the entirety of Bilbo’s face, to lift it so he could see.

 

The Halfling shook his head and gave a quiet sob, finally removing his hand for Beorn to see the deep scratch down the length of his cheek, a thin line of blood trickling down to his neck, staining the hem of his shirt. Bilbo winced and Beorn echoed the reaction, wiping away some of the blood from underneath.

 

“Please don’t tell Gandalf.” He mumbled, turning his head away to the door to check that everyone was still sat inside.

 

Beorn tilted his head. “Why not?”

 

Bilbo pressed the cuff of his sleeve to his shirt to his cheek and saw the blood that came away with it. He shook his head dismissively, shifting his chin out of Beorn’s palm. “It’s fine, I’m fine. Because he’ll worry.” The Hobbit murmured.

 

“He’ll see it.” He pointed out as Bilbo continued to dab at the cut with his sleeve, cheek twitching with each touch of his cuff.

 

“Then I’ll lie.”

 

Beorn raised an eyebrow to that and moved down from his haunches to his knees, squinting at the cut.

 

“I’m fine.” Bilbo repeated and shied away from the hand again but Beorn shook his head.

 

“You’ve got little splinters in it.” He muttered, and pulled the skin of his cheek tauter with the pad of his thumb only for Bilbo to slap his hand away, wrinkling his nose.

 

He touched lightly with his own hand at the scratch and found that Beorn was right. He tugged the small prickles that he found under finger tips and winced. “I’m fine, I can do it.” He whispered though he knew Beorn had already risen up from the ground to standing and had taken up the axe again.

 

“Go and wash it.” Beorn muttered and waved a hand out past the line of brambles at the edge of the long grass and Bilbo knew it was a command rather than merely advice.

 

Past the brambles, Bilbo found the trickle of running water hidden by rocks. Almost certainly it connected to the stream they’d bathed in, the day prior, but it ran much shallower and narrower, only a few inches deep and a few feet across.

 

But the water was cool and refreshing when he splashed it on his cheeks, despite the sting of the scratch. The stream moved too quickly over the rocks for him to see his reflection but he could feel the wound was maybe an inch long.

 

Bilbo picked another tiny splinter from his skin and poured another cupped handful of water over it, before rinsing the blood from his hands and edges of his sleeves. He was sure he could hide it from Gandalf. He would have to, lest the wizard spent the rest of their journey telling him to watch his every step for fear of nettles and pointy rocks.

 

He’d just sort of… fold his hair over it and keep his head down and hope that their difference in height masked the rest.

 

Bilbo began to wipe awkwardly at the blood that had dripped down onto his collar, trying to scrub it away with his fingers before it stained, though he knew the rest of his shirt was beyond rescue already. He’d have to throw it away as soon as another was available to him. But until then his collar would be oddly clean, compared to the grubbiness of the rest of the fabric.

 

“You’re bleeding.”

 

Bilbo’s knee jerked up at the voice behind him and he swallowed thickly before clearing his throat turning to find Fíli close to his back. “Nothing to worry about.” He whispered. “Scratched myself on a bit of wood. Don’t worry. Don’t tell anyone.” He cleared his throat a second time and Fíli offered him a weak smile.

 

“Right.” The Dwarf pursed his lips inwardly and took a seat watching the Halfling pick tiny splinters. “Are you really alright?”

 

“Just fine.” Bilbo whispered tightly and shook his head turning away from Fíli.

 

He sighed. “Actually alright?”

 

“Just fine.”

 

Fíli shifted awkwardly on the boulder. “You can come back inside. They’re not all talking about you.” He mumbled.

 

With a soft tut, Bilbo turned away again. “I didn’t say anything about that, so it was wholly unnecessary for you to bring it up.”

 

“Sorry.” Fíli murmured, flexing the fingers on one hand against the surface of the rock.

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes and shook his head again, pulling out what he hoped was the last of the wood prickles. “Doesn’t matter.” He replied eventually. “It’s fine.”

 

He nodded and shrugged and for a while said nothing, until Bilbo finally spoke again. “Is there something in particular that you’re after…?”

 

“If you’re courting with my uncle… no one would mind.” Fíli replied quietly, brow still knitted and Bilbo’s expression softened for a moment before frowning again.

 

“Well I’m not. So it’s not an issue.”

 

Fíli gave a single nod. “But if you were.” He clarified and Bilbo’s nose twitched as he looked down into the running water.

 

“Well I’m not.”

 

“He’s fond of you.” Fíli offered with a weak smile.

 

Bilbo gave a small burst of laughter and shook his head quickly. “I don’t need him to be fond of me.” He whispered, gritting his back teeth, and wringing his hands at his chest, nails still stained with the initial spurt of blood from his cheek. He didn’t need it and he didn’t want it. With a deep sigh, he finally turned away from the trickling of the water between the rocks and looked to Fíli with a distant expression. “None of you cared if I was okay before you knew.”

 

Fíli couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that. “We’ve always cared – you’re part of the company.” He replied.

 

Maybe that was true, Bilbo thought to himself. Maybe they’d always been questioning his wellbeing from the day they’d set off. There wasn’t any maybe about it, he admitted to himself. They’d always been holding his arm to keep him steady on the cliffs and made sure he wasn’t out on the edge when they camped and didn’t venture out too far by himself and checking that he had enough to eat and drink at meals. “Well I’d wish you’d all just stop caring.” Bilbo muttered finally and wet his lips.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I don’t need you to.” He retorted and tipped his head back.

 

“You never complained before.” The Dwarf pointed out, though he knew it wasn’t the time to argue with him.

 

Bilbo shook his head. “Before it was a hand when I needed one. Now it’s just…mothering. Constant mothering.” He tipped his head back and breathed deeply. “I’m 51 years old you know? I know that probably doesn’t sound all that much to a Dwarf but it’s a fair bit for a Hobbit. Old enough to look after myself at least, without getting everything I do and say questioned and discussed.” And it was true he was sick of it.

“We’re only looking out for you.” Fíli muttered.

 

“I’m not ill. I’m just the same as I’ve always been.”

 

“I know...” The Dwarf started but paused, eyes moving skyward as he decided on finer points of phrasing. “…but things have happened to you and we just want to make sure you know we’re there for you.”

 

Bilbo shook his head. “I never doubted it before all this. I don’t need everyone gossiping and giving me odd looks and I don’t need Gandalf keeping me away from your Uncle to let me know you all supposedly care.”

 

Fíli gave a small smile at that. “You do like him, don’t you? He murmured and Bilbo glanced up quickly to him with a look of betrayal over the question.

 

“Well firstly it’s none of your business and secondly he’s your Uncle and your King and it’s inappropriate to ask that sort of question and thirdly I _know_ what you’re implying and I _know_ you’re only looking for information to spread to the others and I do not like Thorin Oakenshield in that regard no matter what you’ve heard from anyone else.” Bilbo huffed and lay back far enough so his head was almost in the brambles and folded his arms across his chest.

 

Fíli raised an eyebrow, watching as Bilbo turned pinker with each passing point. “Bofur said you kissed him.”

 

“Well Bofur ought to learn to not tell nasty secrets like that when he promised not to.”

 

The Dwarf prince ran a hand down from his forehead down to the braids either side of his lip. He probably shouldn’t have mentioned Bofur’s name. “Well he got the impression that you had feelings for Uncle Thorin that you didn’t think were reciprocated or acceptable or something or other and it was giving you a lot of cause to worry when it didn’t have to.” Fíli sighed and shrugged one shoulder.

 

“I don’t need a child to tell me these things.”

 

“I’m not actually a child you kn-.”

 

“You think I’m confused, is that it?” Bilbo interrupted and turned his head sharply on the ground to face Fíli. “You think I’m sitting out here moping over how I feel about Thorin, well I’m not. I’m here, to clean my scratch and be by myself for a little while.” He paused and tensed his jaw for a moment before adding quietly. “I don’t have any wish to court your Uncle. I thought for a while that maybe he’d developed feelings for me over the course of our journey and I can’t say I didn’t like the idea. But I was mistaken and it wasn’t feelings it was something peculiar that he decided on after he found out and I don’t like it very much at all… I decided I preferred it how it was before. When we were just… parts in the same company”

 

Fíli frowned and stood up from the boulder and moved down to sit close beside Bilbo’s arm. “Well I apologise for his actions.” He mumbled and picked at the moss between the rocks.

 

“You don’t need to apologise on his behalf, he can do that for himself… and he has.”

 

Fíli gave a tight, weak smile to Bilbo and shook his head. “He doesn’t know what he’s apologising for.” He explained quietly. “He’s never properly liked anyone.”

 

The Hobbit frowned. “What do you mean?” He watched the Dwarf give a loose shrug and continue to fiddle with the moss.

 

“It’s…complicated.” Fíli admitted. “But he’s never been known to spend this much time around someone he’s thought to be fond of. Just… pray excuse his behaviour towards you. He doesn’t know how to express affection very well.”

 

“He has his moments.” Bilbo smiled lightly before biting the inside of his lip. “Do you always warn those that your Uncle shows a liking of?”

 

Fíli shrugged. “Like I said, it’s never happened before. Dwarves… we’re not… fickle, with things like this. I mean I’m not saying Hobbits are, I don’t really know how Hobbits do things but…with Dwarves they only really pick one partner, if any and I suppose it can be difficult to cope with the idea that the one you love might be the only one you’ll ever feel that way about.”

 

The Hobbit nodded. “Did you find it difficult?”

 

“Haven’t had the opportunity yet. And maybe I never will.”

  
“And you think that Thorin feels that I’m the only one for him?”

 

Fíli’s grin broadened and he rolled his eyes again. “It’s something we worked out quite early on.”

 

Bilbo nodded slowly at that and uncrossed his arms. It certainly explained…very little of Thorin’s behaviour really. Maybe it made sense to Dwarves.

 

He lay still for a while until he could see that the Dwarf prince was becoming restless at the silence before he spoke again.

 

“Do you think he would be disappointed if I just stayed here for a while?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and kudos and bookmarks in absence of an update.
> 
> half-of-a-halfling.tumblr.com


	10. Past and Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad not writing for ages. But I feel worse publishing something I'm not all happy with. 
> 
> That's an apology, right?
> 
> To everyone still reading and everyone who found this since the last chapter, thank u.

_“You’re very handsome, do you know that?”_

_“Stop it.”_

_Thorin rolled over onto his stomach and smiled broadly. “It’s true.”_

_“Well I hear it enough already.” Ginnar sat up and smirked, reaching out to push the sheet down Thorin’s back from where he lay on his stomach. “Your shoulder’s healing well.” He whispered and his smile failed him as he touched the edge of the burn and Thorin rolled his shoulder in response. “How does it feel?”_

_“Sore.” The Prince replied quietly and Ginnar nodded, as though he expected the reaction._

_“I haven’t made it worse have I?” He asked with a grimace, pulling the sheet back over and to his relief Thorin shook his head._

_“’s just where it rubbed against the bedclothes.”_

_Ginnar gave a slow nod, lowering himself back onto his elbows onto the bed. “Well maybe you ought to ride me next time.”_

_With a soft chuckle, Thorin rolled his eyes. “I’ve already spent the day riding.” He pointed out._

_“I don’t think I ever promised you a rest when you came here.”_

_Thorin turned onto his side to look over the guard. “I wasn’t expecting one.” He paused. “I’ll rest when we reach Moria.” The Prince murmured, with a single, curt nod._

_“I’d like to think you’d rest before that.”_

_“I don’t want to.”_

_Ginnar tilted his head back, looking over Thorin’s face for a while before he nodded, approvingly. “You’ll make a fine king some day.”_

_Perhaps if he were back in Erebor, the reminder of his future might have brought a faint, nervous blush to his cheeks as it often had in the past. But in these times there was no sense in being embarrassed about his lineage to the throne. He rolled back onto the bed, shifting over to be closer to the other Dwarf but he had already swung his legs over the side of the bed and had begun collecting up the few articles of clothing that he had removed._

_“You’re going already?” Thorin asked quietly, though it wasn’t as if it came as any surprise to him that Ginnar was so keen to be moving on back to his own tent._

_“They’re expecting me back.”_

_“You could lie.”_

_Ginnar shrugged one shoulder as he fastened the buttons on his tunic shirt. “Or I could just continue with what I’ve decided to do, and go back to them.”_

_Thorin pouted lightly, glad that it went unseen by Ginnar’s turned back. He briefly considered a whole range of bribery, coercion and emotional blackmail before coming to his senses and realising that Ginnar was immune to such attacks, and that any attempt would, without a doubt result in some chiding about behaviour befitting a King._

_The guard was in fact well versed in responding to a great many of Thorin’s less desirable behaviours. He knew when to ignore the prince’s tempers and when to rage back, and when he was quiet, he knew when Thorin wanted to be left alone and when he needed to be spoken with, or from time to time ‘spoken with’. Ginnar was possible the only one who could read him in this way, so consistently. Thorin would often say he was the only one who truly understood him, but the other Dwarf would only wrinkle his nose at that. He wasn’t fond of such sentiment, no matter how well he knew Thorin’s moods._

_Thorin continued to pout until Ginnar turned back to him, whereupon his mouth twitched back into a neutral line, which made the guard snort a soft laugh. He leaned forward to press his forehead to the younger Dwarf’s and then his lips to the red edge of the still healing burn from the back of his shoulder down his arm to his elbow. Ginnar had no doubt that it would leave little trace once healed but with luck it would leave a scar, though he could not be sure what form that it would take. The prince deserved at least some mark from Erebor._

_“May I see you again tomorrow?” Thorin asked with the same hesitation he always held in his voice when he asked for such things._

_Ginnar shook his head._

_“The day after?”_

_Another shake. “I will come to you when I have the time.”_

_Thorin’s pout returned and this time there was little he could do to suppress it and Ginnar’s smile returned with it. It was times like this when Thorin was sure that the guard said these things solely to see what expression of loathing he could pull from his lover._

_“If you cannot wait two days, what will you do when you are King and married off to someone else and cannot have me at all, Muzmithuh?” Ginnar asked, one thick eyebrow raised._

_Thorin rolled his eyes at that and shook his head. “When I am King, there won’t be anyone above me to marry me off. I’ll marry whomever I choose.” He replied stubbornly. “I’ll get to see you whenever I like.”_

_Ginnar’s smile fell away at that and he fixed his eyes on Thorin’s. “If you say something like that again, I will not come back and see you at all, do you understand?” His voice was level and earnest and Thorin had no doubt as he nodded quickly and ashamedly in response, that he was entirely serious with this threat._

_Without another word, Ginnar rose from where he was perched on the edge of the makeshift bed and headed for the edge of the thick canvas tent and Thorin was soon left bare and alone in his sheets once more._

-o-

 

Fíli swallowed, furrowing his brow. “What do you mean?”

 

Hands beginning to wring at his chest, Bilbo shrugged one shoulder, shaking his head even as he said it. “Well, maybe I could just stay here with Beorn?” He suggested quietly, trying to ignore Fíli continued look of confusion mixed with disagreement.

 

“I thought you wanted to carry on?” He mumbled. “That’s what everyone else was sayi… I mean what I’d assumed you’d want.” The Prince corrected quietly, cursing himself internally.

 

“I know they’re talking about me, you don’t need to pretend they aren’t.”

 

He cursed himself once more but nodded in acceptance. “So you don’t want to carry on then?”

 

The Hobbit pursed his lips, thinking about that. “I don’t want to burden you all.” He shrugged finally, brow furrowed into thick lines on his forehead. “If I thought I’d be any use to you, I’d come, but I won’t.”

 

“But you’re our burglar!” Fíli exclaimed with a frown. “We’ll need you when we get to the mountain!” He sighed and folded his arms across his chest, beginning to wonder whether it would help or hinder the argument if someone else had been giving it. “And we like having you with us.”

 

“I haven’t been much fun to be around these past few days.”

 

He gave an awkward half-shrug at that. “Yeah but…usually you’re a real laugh.”

 

Bilbo couldn’t help but roll his eyes and shook his head quickly. “No I’m not, I’m a near-constant bore.” He replied, wrinkling his nose.

 

“Well, maybe that’s true…” Fíli pursed his lips and lay back against the roots of the tree behind him. “But we like having you here. Least I do. And Thorin does.”

 

“I’m aware of what Thorin likes.” Bilbo sniffed.

 

Fíli sighed. “You’re a reminder of what we’re working towards. Stability. Domesticity. It’s nice having you around.” He spent a brief moment thinking about that. “And I’ve no doubt that’s why you want to stay here with Beorn then.” He sighed quietly and Bilbo nodded.

 

It wasn’t as though having adventures wasn’t nice. It was the most fun Bilbo had had in his entire life. He was seeing things he’d only ever seen in pictures and doing more with his life than he’d ever thought possible.

 

And there was a nice privacy that came with being away from home. That no one knew who he really was out in the wild. The wide expanses with miles around completely uninhabited save for foxes and rabbits on the ground and birds in trees.

 

But it didn’t compare to the comforts of home. Having a full larder of staples and treats and a warm bed to collapse into at the end of the day instead of relying on clearings in forests and the occasional inn.

 

It was like a holiday that had gone on a bit too long, but Bilbo knew he’d come too far to go home.

 

“So what does Beorn think of your plan?” Fíli asked, drawing Bilbo from his thoughts again, as the Hobbit began touching at his cheek again for a moment checking if the bleeding had ceased, which it had long since. He shrugged, glancing back to the Dwarf Prince.

 

“We haven’t discussed it fully.” He replied casually, which wasn’t exactly a lie, though nor was it the truth either. “But I’m sure he’d like someone to look after his house in the winter so it doesn’t get dirty.” That part was undoubtedly a lie although Bilbo couldn’t help but hope, simply for Beorn’s house’s sake that it wasn’t.

 

“It isn’t the winter though.” Fíli pointed out, rising to his feet and looking over his shoulder to where the Skin-Changer continued to chop wood.

 

“Well maybe he’d like a summer guest!” Bilbo huffed, poking his head up over to Beorn’s direction again to make sure he wasn’t listening. He sighed, plopping down on the grass again and folding his arms across his chest. “You can’t convince me this isn’t a good idea.”

 

Fíli chewed the inside of his cheek, tapping one hand against the side of his thigh. “Can anyone else?” He asked, the implication clear in his words.

 

“I don’t want to talk with him.”

 

Fíli nodded, Bilbo’s point very clearly made. “Well if there’s nothing we can do to stop you from trying… If Beorn refuses your company… you’ll take that as fate and continue on. Promise me that.”

 

Bilbo wrinkled his nose again, tipping his head back to stare up at the open sky above him. “I suppose I promise you that.”

 

With a small self-satisfied smile, happy in the knowledge that he could easily engineer this situation back into the Dwarrow favour. He watched, unmoved as Bilbo stepped away from the stream again, a few paces away before he stopped.

 

“If you tell Gandalf about this, I’ll put a Hobbit curse on you.” He murmured, turning his head to lock eyes with Fíli.

 

The Hobbit parted company with him with a knowing nod shared between them, and headed back towards the house, shepherded  in by Beorn with a hand reaching down to guide him behind his head. Fíli was left by the water, brow furrowed as he tried to decide, firstly whether he believed in the concept of Hobbit curses and secondly whether it was worth the risk of invoking one if it meant keeping Bilbo close to the company.


End file.
